


A Cauldron of Love

by zimriya



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (on the harry potter front), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Canon Compliant, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Nick Grimshaw is a necessary evil, many people are in love with harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 04:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2053635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zimriya/pseuds/zimriya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh for Merlin’s sake, yes,” Niall interrupts finally. “Harry’s been in love with Louis Tomlinson since that time in second year when he went and accidentally peed on him.”</p><p>Harry turns to face him, horrified. “Niall!” he squeaks out. “You promised you wouldn’t tell anyone about that!”</p><p>Niall just shrugs and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Aw, come off it, Hazza, was it really a secret?” When Harry doesn’t say anything, he pauses and looks up. “It was?” he says. “Ah, bollocks.”</p><p>A Hogwarts AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Cauldron of Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [patdkitten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/patdkitten/gifts).



> For patdkitten, who asked for fumbling wizard!Harry Styles and a lovespell....I really hope you enjoy my mildly extensive Hogwarts AU THAT DOES IN FACT EVENTUALLY HAVE THOSE TWO THINGS. EVENTUALLY. FORGIVE ME.
> 
> Betaed by Vic and Ryssa and [shannon--shenanigans](http://shannon--shenanigans.tumblr.com/) on tumblr (who was LOVELY), with advice from Marta, and also C, who told me to follow my heart. Britpicked by Vikki and Jess. All other mistakes are mine!

**Fifth Year, 2009.**

\--

For reasons that Harry would very much like not to think about, Slytherin sixth year Louis Tomlinson starts the second term seventeen years old. Harry only knows this because for reasons beyond him, _he_ starts the second term naked from the waist up, lying prostrate in a dark corner of the Slytherin common room, while Louis Tomlinson himself gleefully announces this fact to his best mates.

Neither of these things bode well for Harry.

Generally speaking, Harry doesn’t like to think about Louis’ age, because while everyone in his year knows that Louis is a year older than most of his classmates, everyone in his year _isn’t_ arse over tits in love with him. Louis wrote Headmistress McGonagall that he wouldn’t be attending the year of his eleventh birthday because he wanted to stay home and help his mum take care of his younger sisters; if Harry starts to think about _that_ , he’s going to end up making even more of a fool of himself.

At the very least, none of Louis’ friends seem to have noticed him.

 “--I don’t think you’re understanding the significance of what I’m saying, _Liam_ ,” Louis is in the middle of explaining, turned around to face Liam Payne, who’s a Gryffindor sixth year and Captain of their Quidditch Team. Liam usually goes out of his way to smile at Harry whenever they pass each other in the halls, even though they haven’t got any classes together. He doesn’t appear to have noticed Harry now, however, and Harry thinks that maybe, if he stays very still, he can keep it that way.

“Lou--” Liam tries to interject, but Louis keeps talking over him.

“No--you’re not listening--Li, it’s _bloody_ brilliant, is what it is!” the older boy says, hands waving about in the air.

Harry’s been staring up at the dull, omnipresent shade of green that is the Slytherin common room ceiling ever since Louis and his friends banged in through the stone wall several seconds ago. Everything is sort of glowing around the edges, dank and depressing, and thoroughly Slytherin. Harry honestly can’t remember why he decided it’d be a good idea to get smashed in the Slytherin common room the last day of Christmas Holidays. Then again, he’s not sure he even got all that smashed, since his headache seems non-existent.

“I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss about it, Tommo,” says Zayn Malik, Louis’ other best mate, popping into the common room with considerably more dignity than either of his friends. “I’m going to be seventeen in like a week.” Zayn’s already dressed in his robes, shirt tucked in, with the green and silver tie neatly done up and runway-ready quiff styled up off his forehead. He also seems to notice Harry, if the quick dart of his eyes and slight quirk of his lips says anything about it.

Harry would wave, since he and Zayn are actually somewhat friendly with each other despite the year and house difference, but Harry hasn’t quite given up on getting the ground to swallow him whole. The Slytherin common room is a dungeon underneath the Great Lake; it could happen.

Louis isn’t having any of it. “You’re missing the point, Zayn,” he says briskly, striding further into the room. The move brings him worryingly close to where Harry’s bare feet are sticking out from behind one of the tapestries, and Harry’s heart skips about three beats. He tries to drag his feet in close as best he can without also drawing attention to the fact that he’s shirtless and lying on the ground.

Thankfully, Louis still seems oblivious, although Liam’s eyebrows shoot up in concern. Harry very belatedly thinks about how Gemma used to get on his case about how much Liam saw on the Quidditch Pitch and makes a note to tell Taylor about it later. After their somewhat humiliating loss to Hufflepuff last term, she’s essentially been insufferable at practice. While it probably won’t do much to lessen the amount of work she’s forcing the entire team to do, Harry reckons it’ll at least put Harry in her good books.

 “I’m going to be eighteen next year,” Louis is in the middle of saying when Harry zones back in.

He’s only half listening because there’s what looks to be a very large, very irritating bit of dust floating around the edges of the tapestry just to the left of Harry’s face. Harry stays very still in the hopes that it won’t end up aggravating his allergies, and tries very hard not to think about _why_ Louis is going to be eighteen next year.

“Eighteen and legal,” Louis adds.

That last bit seems to be enough to get Liam to stop looking at Harry with barely disguised concern and Harry breathes out a sigh of relief. “Oh, well, I mean,” says Liam. “Ed’ll be eighteen next month, as well.”

Louis makes a face, as he always does whenever Zayn or Liam mention anyone on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and goes to say _something_. Only he doesn’t get to finish that thought, because at that very moment, a stray bit of dust falls soundly onto Harry’s face, he sneezes, and Louis visibly startles, goes tripping backwards, _falls_ over Harry’s still sticking out feet, and ends up sprawled on the floor of the Slytherin common room right next to Harry.

“Oops,” says Harry, like an idiot.

“Hi,” Louis replies faintly, and Harry is struck by a chilling moment of déjà vu. Just his luck that the first full conversation he happens to have with Louis Tomlinson while sober begins exactly the way their first drunken meeting in that loo had. At the very least, Harry won’t have to drag Louis around the castle searching for anyone wearing silver and green this time.

“Merlin, Tommo, are you alright?” says Liam, sounding honestly shocked, as Harry stares up towards the bit of glass that separates the common room from the Great Lake. Maybe if he prays hard enough, the Giant Squid will come swimming by and decide that today is the day it’s going to break the glass and Harry will float away into oblivion and not have to continue this conversation.

Because they’re having a conversation. Louis Tomlinson has gotten up, straightened out his clothes, and is crouching above Harry looking very concerned.

“--Are you alright?” he says, brows furrowing.

Harry knew Louis’ eyes were terribly blue; he hadn’t remembered them being this distracting.

“Harry,” Louis says again, concern still colouring his tone. “Are you alright?”

“You know my name?” Harry manages, a bit dreamily, before he snaps right out of it, jumping up off the floor and nearly knocking heads with Louis in the process. “I mean, sorry!” he blurts, blushing now, and pointedly not making eye contact with anyone in the room.

Zayn’s smirking at him, arms crossed across his chest, and even Liam is looking a little amused, but Louis, at least, just looks worried.

Harry’s not sure how, but he somehow manages to take the hand the other boy has extended to him. “Thanks,” he says, feeling a little better now that they’re both on even ground (and two feet). “And sorry.”

Louis grins at him, eyes crinkling at the corners. “No problem, mate,” he says. “And you _are_ Harry, right? Harry Styles? Ravenclaw’s only decent Beater? Not Harry Potter?”

Harry winces a little at the word ‘mate’, brightens at the thought of Louis knowing his name and that he plays Quidditch, and then sours at the mention of The Boy Who Lived. Well, no. Harry doesn’t sour, because he was born at the end of the Second War and he’s perfectly aware of the fact that he essentially owes his education and general well being to the fact that Harry Bloody Potter saved the Wizarding World, but he does make a bit of a face, because if there was one thing Harry wished his mum hadn’t done, it was name him Harry.

Louis doesn’t know any of this, though, and so Harry hurries to speak before the older boy starts to think he’s daft or something.

“I don’t think Michelle’d appreciate you calling her less than decent,” he says, risking a grin. “And no. I mean yes--I’m Harry Styles, not Harry Potter.” He’s definitely blushing now, brilliantly and all the way down his chest, which only gets worse when Harry glances down and finds that he hadn’t hallucinated the whole shirtless thing, and he hasn’t magically put on clothes in the interim.

Louis keeps smiling at him. “Nice to meet you, Harry Styles,” he says, giving their joined hands a little shake. He leans in, winking. “And I won’t tell if you don’t tell.” Louis tightens his grip on Harry’s fingers when he’s done, and Harry’s breath catches.

And oh, if that wasn’t already mortifying, Harry realises he’s been holding Louis Tomlinson’s hand this entire time. Like. Harry is shirtless, hungover, barefoot, _in the Slytherin common room_ , and has spent the last three minutes _holding Louis Tomlinson’s_ hand for no apparent reason.

Ending up as Giant Squid food is looking better and better.

“Sorry,” Harry says again, pulling his hand back and rubbing at the back of his neck. The move jangles one of the many necklaces he’s got strung around his neck, including a rather intense looking pendant with what looks like a giant emerald set into the middle of it and a curly cursive ‘NG’ carved into that. Harry stares down at the thing in horror, last night’s events coming back to him in terrible, mostly green-tinged technicolour. This is the last time he’s letting Nick mix him drinks.

When Harry looks back up, he notices that Louis appears to be staring at his chest with an odd look on his face as well, although that might just be because Harry is shirtless for no apparent reason in a common room that is most definitely not his own. At least Harry hopes so. He glances down at his chest anyway, hoping that he’s not gone and done something terrible like get a tattoo.

“Have I--” Harry tries. “Have I got something on my chest?”

Louis’ head snaps up immediately, giving Harry a lovely view of the flush that’s settling high across his cheekbones. “Well, no,” he says ruefully. “You appear to be missing a shirt, mate.”

There’s a pause, where Harry swears Louis ends up paying careful attention to his extra nipples, before the moment breaks and Harry realises he should probably say something. He should probably apologise, actually.

“Sorry,” Harry says for the third time this conversation, awkwardly tugging the pendant off his neck and trying to decide if he should stuff it in his jean pockets or go chuck it at Nick’s ugly face. “I--sorry.”

Liam and Zayn appear to have left them at some point, which Harry would be more worried about (Taylor’s always getting on his case about being more observant) if it weren’t for the fact that it’s _Louis_.

“For flashing you, I mean,” Harry continues, lowering his hand and managing something close to a smile. He really wishes he had a shirt to tangle his fingers into.

 “It’s fine,” Louis says, with an answering smile. “I don’t think we’ve officially met, anyway, and this’ll be a wonderful story to tell all our friends--”

“Hey, Lou--which one’s your bed, again?” comes Liam’s voice, sounding a little worried, and Zayn starts cackling.

Louis pauses. “The one on the far right, why?” he calls back, eyes darting between Harry, Harry’s naked chest, and then off towards the Slytherin Dormitories.

“Um.” Liam sounds worried. “You might want to come in here.”

Zayn keeps laughing, and there’s a loud yelp that sounds suspiciously like Nick, and Louis’ eyes go dark.

“Oi, Malik, some people are trying to sleep here!” comes a voice that sounds equally suspiciously like Nick.

Harry somehow manages to smile, even as Louis unpockets his wand and goes striding off towards the Slytherin Dormitory with an evil look on his face.

It’s only after Nick’s started cursing Louis out, that what he’d been saying to Harry sinks in. Harry’s shirtless, just finished tripping Louis Tomlinson and somehow holding a conversation with the other boy while holding his hand, and Louis thinks they’ve never officially met.

This is the last time he’s letting Nick mix him _anything_.

\--

Several panicked minutes later, Harry has showered, had a very sad and never to be spoken of wank, and is sitting with Niall at the Hufflepuff table in the Great Hall bemoaning his fate. Around them, Niall’s housemates are catching up after holidays, bright and cheery as they always are, and completely unbothered by Harry’s blue and bronze tie.

Niall had spent his Christmas Holidays being dragged around Wizarding London in the hopes that one of the multitude of occupations his parents exposed him to would interest him and they’d be able to stop sending him concerned letters about their looming O.W.L.’s and N.E.W.T.’s. Needless to say, Harry’s best mate is not all that amused.

“Niall,” Harry says into the table. “Niall--my life is over.”

“That’s nice, Harry,” says Niall calmly. “Could you pass me the pumpkin juice?”

“Niall!” Harry is well aware that he’s essentially whining into the wood. “Niall, you’re not _listening_ to me.”

“You tripped Louis Tomlinson this morning,” says Niall, tonelessly and straight to the point. “And then afterwards you held his hand and rambled like an idiot--now can you pass me the pumpkin juice?”

Harry sighs, but lifts his head so he can grab the pitcher in question, and hands it to Niall. “You could sound more sympathetic.”

Niall makes a humming noise and takes the pitcher. “Thank you.” He pours himself a glass. “You’re a true friend.”

Harry glowers at him for a long moment, watching as Niall swirls the orange liquid around in his glass a few times before downing most of it. “You’re not going to be sympathetic at all, are you?” he says.

Niall takes a bite out of his toast, before washing it down with the rest of his juice. “Nope,” he says.

Harry sets his face back in his arms and groans. “I hate you,” he tells the table.

“There, there,” says Niall, and he pats Harry on the back with what feels like his toast.

Harry goes to groan into his arms one more time, when a pair of arms and then a chin settle into the middle of his back.

“Morning, Harold,” says Nick, probably snatching Niall’s toast, if the indignant squawk the Hufflepuff lad makes next to Harry says anything about that.

The chatter around them very abruptly dampens, but quickly starts up again, although slightly subdued. Harry supposes it’s progress, since only a few years ago, interhouse friendships were somewhat of a novelty, not to mention eating at another table was practically unheard of. And Nick’s a Slytherin seventh year--like, Harry has to cut Hufflepuff some slack.

Niall seems utterly unbothered, shoving Nick off of Harry and pulling him close to his chest.

“Fuck off, Grimshaw,” he says, petting through Harry’s curls. “Haven’t you done enough harm this morning?”

Harry purrs, pleased, and throws Nick a pleased glance. “You _were_ listening,” he tells Niall, snuggling deeper into his side. “You do care.”

Niall pets him a few more times, before shoving him off. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, grinning. “Now bugger off and let me eat in peace, yeah?” He nabs his toast back from Nick and takes one big bite. “I don’t have time to deal with your moping and wallowing--I’m fucking starving.”

Niall’s parents had been less interested in feeding Niall than they were in trying to get him interested in a career, which is not to say that Niall hadn’t eaten all of Christmas Holidays, as his many letters had suggested, but only that he hadn’t been able to eat _as much_ as he was usually inclined. Harry had threatened to steal Buckbeak and fly off to whatever blasted part of Ireland Niall was skulking about in and _smack_ him. Niall’s letters had gotten much more succinct after that.

Nick leans back a little where he’s settled himself on the bench, two Ravenclaw first years staring at him with a mix of awe and horror, and only smirks harder at Harry. “Moping and wallowing,” he parrots back, amused. His hair is a terrible shade of maroon today, no doubt Louis’ doing, and it’s a credit to how often the two of them end up cursing each other that no one around them bats an eyelash.

Harry just narrows his eyes at him and pointedly grabs his own slice of toast, buttering it with careful fingers. He’d ended up throwing the pendant in his face this morning, only to end up scrambling quickly out of the Slytherin common room in somewhat of a daze, when the first thing he’d happened upon was not Louis murdering Nick (as the shouting would have suggested) but, instead, was Louis halfway out of his Muggle t-shirt blinking curiously back at him. Nick’s got the blasted thing on under his robes, tacky and garish as always, and Harry would bet he’s doing it entirely to piss him off.

“No but really, Harold,” Nick continues, as if Harry isn’t slowly buttering his toast like he’s going to war several inches from him. “What’s this I’m hearing about you and Tomlinson?”

Harry sets down his knife and reaches out to start shovelling eggs onto his plate, not saying anything.

“I don’t know if I can give you my blessing,” Nick goes on to say, still grinning like he’s a cat and Harry is a very unamused, ruffled mouse. “For this ‘thing’ you appear to have going with Tomlinson.”

“Fuck off,” he tells Nick darkly, grabbing a few pieces of bacon. “It’s not a thing.” He stuffs one of the pieces of bacon in his mouth, and when Niall finishes his toast and eyes the second piece, he stuffs that one in too.

Nick’s mouth opens, no doubt to continue his unfair teasing--this is why Harry hadn’t gone around telling anyone other than Niall and Johnny and once Will when they were lying on the ground in the middle of the Quidditch Pitch trying to pretend Taylor wasn’t working them to an early death about his unfortunate arse over tits crush on Louis Tomlinson--but before he can, Harry is saved by Louis, Zayn, and Liam entering the Great Hall.

The three of them appear to have continued their earlier conversation about Louis’ age, unworried by the teachers who have started filtering back into the Great Hall, and Harry only has five seconds to school his features into something resembling disinterest before Louis is walking past him.

Liam smiles at him, as always, even as he’s hurrying to keep pace with Louis, and Zayn pauses to say hello to him.

Harry nods back at him, still trying not to look too overcome.

“Hey, Zayn,” says Niall. “Did you have a good Christmas?”

“Good.” Zayn throws a thumb towards Louis. “I ended up spending it with this wanker, though.”

Louis elbows Zayn in the side. “Piss off, you love me,” he says, before turning to face Niall. “Hey, Niall.”

“Hey, Lou.” Niall goes back to his toast.

Harry glances between the two of them appalled--since when is Niall on a first name basis with the love of Harry’s life--but before he can say anything, Louis notices him.

“Harry,” he says brightly, sounding pleased. “Hi.”

His good mood is terribly infectious and distracting; Harry stops trying to murder Niall with his eyes and finds himself grinning a little instead. He knows his dimples are out in full force and he knows that makes him look younger, to quote Gemma. He really can’t help it. “Um, good morning,” he says.

“Hey, Tommo, you coming?” calls Zayn, from where he and Liam are already sitting down at the Gryffindor Table.

“Gimme a sec, yeah?” Louis shouts back, before turning back to Harry. “I see you’ve found your top, yeah?” Louis continues, as if it’s normal for him to be blowing off his mates in order to talk to Harry.

Niall chokes on a mouthful of eggs. Harry sticks out a hand to thwack him on the back a few times.

“Yeah, amazingly, I have more than one of those,” he tells Louis, once he’s certain Niall’s breathing again.

Louis throws his head back and laughs. “I should hope so,” he says, pleased. “But I’m glad.” For a second it looks like he’s going to sit down at the Hufflepuff table next to Harry, but then he appears to notice Nick at his side.

Harry had been hoping Louis would _not_ notice Nick, because he’s relatively certain Nick’s smile has been growing smugger and smugger with every passing moment.

“Grimshaw,” Louis says, eyes glinting.

“Tomlinson,” Nick replies. “Lovely morning we’re having.”

“Quite,” Louis responds. “I like your hair.”

Nick lifts a hand to fluff up a few stray, maroon strands. “You think it’s really my colour?” he says.

“Oh, absolutely,” Louis deadpans back. “Really brings out your eyes.”

Nick bats his lashes a few times. “You flatter me, Tomlinson,” he says, and then he actually reaches out to cup Louis’ chin with one hand.

Louis doesn’t even flinch, merely raises one eyebrow and heads off towards the Gryffindor Table to join Zayn and Liam.

“Fuck off, Grimshaw!” he calls over his shoulder, and when one of the lads seated across from Liam makes a noise of protest, “Not _you_ , Aiden. You’re alright.” He pauses. “For a Gryffindor.” It’s a credit to Louis that most of Gryffindor table just laughs at him, a few of them going to punch him in the shoulder.

Harry is left staring after him trying to decide if he actually woke up this morning or if he’s still lying passed out in the Slytherin common room.

“But seriously,” Nick says, catching Harry’s attention by snapping in front of his eyes. “How long have you been mooning after Tomlinson?”

Harry closes his teeth around the air where Nick’s fingers were, and then takes a large bite of his eggs. He’s never been more grateful for the fact that he didn’t go home over Christmas, because it means his hair is long enough to cover where his ears are blushing. “I do not moon,” he tells Nick, turning to Niall. “Niall--tell Nick I don’t moon.”

Niall freezes with a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth. “No comment,” he says.

Harry lets out a groan. “I hate you both,” he says. “Neither of you are my friends anymore.”

“No but, Harold, honestly,” says Nick. “Please tell me this is a new thing.”

Harry turns to look at Niall with pleading eyes. ‘Help me,’ he mouths.

Niall glances between Nick and Harry, and then shrugs. “No comment,” he says again.

“Go away,” Harry tells Nick, ignoring him.

“No,” says Nick, sounding thrilled. “No--it’s _not_ a new thing, is it?”

Harry turns to him, unimpressed. “I’m assuming that’s a rhetorical question?” he says primly, and Niall coughs out what sounds very much like ‘Ravenclaw.’ Harry ignores him.

Nick just keeps going. “Oh, no, _Harold_ ,” he says, like Harry’s just told him he’s decided to drop out of Hogwarts to pursue a muggle singing career. “ _Harold._ ”

Harry lifts his chin. “That’s not actually my name, you know,” he says, with as much dignity as he can manage.

Nick doesn’t seem all that bothered. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice,” he says. “Has it been all this time--have you been in love all this time?”

“First of all,” Harry says stiffly. “I am not in love.” _Liar_ , his brain fires off at him. “Second of all,” he continues, ignoring his brain. “Even if I were, it’s not that big of a deal.”

Nick looks like he’s going to keep pressing and Harry wonders if he could feed _Nick_ to the Giant Squid. Then again, it might be too late--the thing’s had seven years to get used to Nick.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, yes,” Niall interrupts finally, before Harry can start to think about putting that plan into practise. “Harry’s been in love with Louis Tomlinson since that time in second year when he went and accidentally peed on him.”

Nick’s mouth snaps closed.

A few of the Hufflepuffs sitting next to them stop talking.

Harry chances a glance over towards the Gryffindor Table, and is thankful that Andy Samuels has chosen this exact moment to start some sort of food fight.

Nick’s mouth opens again.

Niall finishes his eggs.

Finally, Harry manages to find his voice. “Niall!” he squeaks out. “You promised you wouldn’t tell anyone about that!”

Niall just shrugs and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Aw, come off it, Hazza, was it really a secret?” When Harry doesn’t say anything, he pauses and looks up. “It was?” he says. “Ah, bollocks.”

Harry looks down at his eggs, over at Nick (who has stopped gaping but now looks like Christmas has come for the second time), and decides he doesn’t need to eat breakfast.

Niall catches up to him five strides out of the Great Hall, an apologetic quirk to his lips, and Harry sighs and lets him fall into step with him. “Was it really that obvious?” he asks.

Niall nudges him with his shoulder. “You once spent an entire night waxing poetic about his eyelashes, Haz,” he says.

“So that’s a yes, then?”

“Yeah,” says Niall, but he very kindly drops it when Harry changes the subject to the upcoming Slytherin-Ravenclaw Quidditch Match. Of course Louis’ on the damn team, but Harry prides himself in pointedly not discussing either team’s Keepers. Niall doesn’t mention it.

\--

Harry supposes he should give Nick credit, but it takes him most of January before he brings it up again. To be fair, that’s mostly because Harry spends most of January frantically managing Quidditch practice and studying, and has little time for parties or get togethers or whatever else Nick has in mind. Surprisingly, he ends up spending quite a lot of time with Zayn, with whom Harry has Arithmancy, doing homework holed up in the library, avoiding socialisation.

Harry hasn’t seen Louis in ages, because while it turns out they actually have quite a few shared classes, the upcoming match against Slytherin has made Taylor particularly vicious about Harry’s newfound friendship with Slytherin’s Captain. Harry wouldn’t mind, if sitting with Louis at any meals wasn’t guaranteed to have Taylor glaring at Harry, regardless of where they chose to sit, and forcing him to do drills until his arms ache.

Zayn, at least, isn’t on the team. And, as he points out, he’s best mates with Louis and Liam, who spent the entire first week of classes refusing to do more than speak to each other in class out of some sort of misguided competition, which had ended with Gryffindor rather soundly trouncing Slytherin and left Louis sulking, Niall amused, and Liam wandering around looking like a lost puppy. Taylor really can’t say anything to that.

So Harry spends most of January studying with Zayn, hitting Bludgers, and praying for it all to end.

He supposes it’s just his luck that the day Nick finds him is also the day Zayn brings Louis with him to one of their study dates.

“Grimshaw,” says Louis, when he sees him, but Nick ignores him in favour of weaseling in closer to Harry. Nick’s only been sitting there for about a minute, but Louis doesn’t know that, and Harry isn’t sure how to go about clarifying this without sounding like a complete tit with a crush.

Louis’ stopped a few feet in front of their table, eyes narrowed and arms crossed over his chest. It’s a very nice chest, the material of his band t-shirt stretched thin across it, and Harry has never been gladder for their oversized robes.

“Harold,” says Nick, breathing against Harry’s right ear.

Harry ignores him; he’s getting rather good at that.

Of course it’s quite hard to ignore what happens next, because Nick has only been leaning in close to Harry for a few seconds before Louis accidentally drops a book on his foot.

“Woops,” Louis says, grinning, even as Madame Pince appears behind them, looking unamused. “My mistake.”

Nick winces and rubs at his foot, but doesn’t do more than lean in even closer so that he can whisper in Harry’s ear. “Are you sure you’re in love with him, Haz--?” he starts to say.

It’s definitely not an accident when Harry shoves him out of the chair onto the floor. “My mistake,” he tells him coolly, and then flushes when Louis lifts a hand for a high five.

Afterwards, Harry drops his hand back against the table. “I don’t think I’m supposed to be talking to you, let alone touching you,” he says, after a moment.

Nick makes a choking noise and sputters something about ‘touching’, so Harry kicks him.

Louis shakes his head. “I’ll have you know that when we beat you,” he says, ignoring the eyebrow Harry raises, and stepping over Nick to take his seat, “we’ll do it fairly, without any sort of cheating.”

Harry steeples his fingers in front of him. “Is that so?” he says.

Louis mirrors the gesture. “Definitely,” he says. “But we’re not doing it down a Chaser--you alright, Grimshaw?”

Nick makes a groaning noise and raises up his middle finger.

Before Harry can do more than snicker at him, Madame Pince appears to frown at the five of them.

“Five points from Slytherin, Mr. Grimshaw,” she says, sounding resigned. “For foul language.”

Nick makes another groaning noise and mutters something that sounds like it wants to be ‘but I didn’t bloody speak--’ before he thinks better of swearing while getting told off for swearing.

“And uniform, Tomlinson.”

Louis just blows her a kiss, before hiking his robes up to hid his t-shirt.

Harry is so in love with him.

\--

“Harry,” says a voice that sounds suspiciously like Taylor Swift. “Wake up.”

Harry rolls over and tries to hide his face in his pillow. “I’m sleeping,” he says.

“The game’s today,” says the voice, still sounding suspiciously like Harry’s housemate and Quidditch Captain. “If you’re not down in the Great Hall eating breakfast in five minutes I will magic you down the stairs myself.”

Harry very vaguely remembers the horror stories Gemma used to tell him about the time she had to magic half the Quidditch team down to breakfast in their pajamas because the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw match dawned on a cold, snowy, depressing Saturday morning. Sadly, this is not enough to get him out of bed.

Which is why the morning of the Slytherin-Ravenclaw match finds Harry floating naked save his boxers in the middle of the Great Hall, while Niall Horan laughs at him.

Harry supposes he should be glad he’s wearing nice, neutral grey boxer briefs, and not the pink pair Gemma sent him just the other week as an early Valentine’s Day present. He supposes he should be grateful Taylor decided to float him over to the Hufflepuff table.

Harry is cold, nearly naked, and _neither_ of these things.

“Morning, Hazza,” says Niall, settling onto the bench somewhere to Harry’s left. “You’re looking a bit peckish.”

Harry manages to get one of his arms to cooperate and raises a hand to give Niall the middle finger. “Thank you, Niall,” he says. “You’re a true friend.”

“Oh, fuck off, Styles,” says Barbara Palvin, a girl in Harry and Niall’s year who Harry is pretty sure Niall has a crush on. “At least you’re proper fit, you know?” Barbara’s a half-blood, and apparently she spent a few months doing some sort of Muggle modelling, a fact that Niall had frantically phoned Harry about last summer.

Harry is seriously reconsidering his decision to give her and Niall his blessing.

“Right,” says Perrie Edwards, a sixth year and Hufflepuff’s star Chaser and Captain. “It could be worse.”

“Yeah,” agrees Niall, sounding unfairly cheerful for this early in the morning. “Wait, hang on, B. What do you mean by fit?”

Taylor chooses that moment to release Harry from her levitation spell, giving him only a few seconds of warning before he’s falling gracelessly onto the floor of the Great Hall.

“What do you think I meant?” Barbara is in the middle of telling Niall, Perrie nodding at her side, crunching on a piece of toast. “You have to admit Styles is fit.”

Harry gets to his feet with as much dignity as he can manage, and when Taylor glares at him, sits down at the Hufflepuff table next to Niall.

His friend ignores him, leaning across him to narrow his eyes at Barbara. “Harry’s not fit,” he says quickly.

“Thanks,” says Harry.

“Harry’s curly,” Niall continues. “And got dimples. And once weed on Louis--”

“Alright!” Harry interrupts, raising his voice and shoving an elbow into Niall’s stomach. “That’s quite enough of that--”

“Are you saying curliness isn’t a sign of fitness?” says someone, sitting down on Harry’s other side. Harry isn’t going to look, because whoever that someone is smells heavenly, is warm, and is likely Slytherin’s Quidditch Captain. “Because I think you’re just jealous, Horan.”

Niall makes a scoffing noise and reaches for a napkin. “Just because you happen to think Harry’s curls are the wonder of the Wizarding world--”

“They’re his thing,” says Louis, gleefully reaching around Harry to nab some bacon off Niall’s plate. “Like you know how Potter has got the scar, and all? Haz has got the curls. They’re bloody iconic, is the word,” he adds, around a mouthful of bacon.

The table stills for a moment.

“What?” Louis sounds honestly confused. “Why’re you all looking at me that way?”

And Harry turns, slowly to face him with a look of horror on his face. “He’s got the scar because his parents are dead, Lou,” he says hoarsely. “That’s horrible.”

Louis makes a face and opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, the other Ravenclaw Beater, Michelle, is tugging Harry to his feet.

“Sorry about that,” she tells the table at large, even as Harry makes grabby hands towards his breakfast. “But I’ve got strict orders to keep this one--” She nods her head towards Harry-- “away from that one--” She nods her head towards Louis-- “under penalty of death.”

And then she’s dragging Harry back out of the Great Hall, unfinished breakfast left sitting in front of Niall and Louis, who merely shrug, before piling it up onto their own plates.

The day could not get worse.

\--

It gets worse. Three minutes into the match and Slytherin is already ahead by thirty points, thanks to well thrown goals by Zayn’s friend, Ant, who’s a fourth year and showing surprising promise, and finally one by Nick, who Harry knocks a Bludger off towards with slightly more venom than needed.

Nick dodges, grinning, but he does call over to Harry, “Careful, Styles!”

Harry flips him off with his free hand before settling back over his broom in time to beat the second Bludger away from Luke Hemmings, just as the third year catches hold of the Quaffle.

A look down at the stands reveals Niall holding a giant sign. The thing is garish in the extreme, with glitter and bits of blue and bronze streamers sticking off the sides. Niall himself has shown up in full Ravenclaw regalia, although he has wrapped a green and silver scarf around his neck. At his side are Zayn and Liam, the former looking mildly put off by the early morning. Zayn’s hands are in his pockets, but the fact that Niall’s ‘YAY-RAVENCLAW-and-also-louis-tomlinson’ sign is slightly less haphazard than usual, tells Harry that he at least helped.

Liam just looks incensed, probably because the fact that Harry and Louis nearly got caught out after hours the other day means that if Slytherin loses, Gryffindor has a chance of winning the Cup, assuming they beat Hufflepuff come February.

A Bludger comes swerving past Harry, who snaps out of it in time to smack it back off towards a conveniently placed Nick, who appears to be smirking at him.

“Bugger off, Grimshaw!” Harry shouts, at the same time Luke goes darting past the Bludger Stan pelts at him with brutal efficiency, and hurls the Quaffle towards the Slytherin goal.

For a second, Harry can’t quite figure out what happens next--why isn’t Louis waiting for him, where the bloody hell even is Louis, shouldn’t he be guarding the Slytherin goal posts--only a moment later there’s a slight booing from the crowds, and Barbara Palvin is announcing a “nice save by Slytherin’s Captain Louis Tomlinson.”

“Nice one, indeed, Tomlinson,” calls Nick, flying a bit too close to Harry for comfort, and looking very smug.

Louis glowers at him and then grins when one of the Bludgers Stan knocks off towards Harry ends up nearly hitting Nick.

“Woops,” says Stan, swinging around to face Louis for a high five. “Sorry about that, Grimmy.”

Nick just rolls his eyes and mutters something about the nerve on sixth years and lack of respect for their elders.

“You _are_ very old, Grimmy, that _is_ true!” yells Stan, going in for another high five.

Louis cackles.

“And that was Stan Lucas firing on his own teammate,” interrupts Barbara’s amplified voice. “I don’t think that’s exactly, um, allowed, but--”

“Ha!” Louis sounds pleased.

“And now Jaymi Hensley has got the Quaffle,” Barbara continues, before he can say anything else.

Harry risks a glance towards where Jaymi has taken advantage of Louis’ distraction and is speeding towards the Slytherin goal, before angling his broom back to face the other side of the pitch.

“Styles!” shouts Michelle, banking left and heading off after one of the Bludgers before it can knock Jaymi off course.

 “On it!” Harry shouts back, giving his head a quick shake. Right. Quidditch. Quidditch--Harry’s actually quite decent at that, when he’s not distracted by how utterly attractive Louis is. The second Bludger is nowhere to be seen, but the one that Michelle’s beat away from Jaymi comes hurtling back around when Stan, having dropped down below them a few feet, comes up off his broom to smack it back. Harry has to admire the skill involved in that little maneuver, before he’s flinging himself sideways off his broom, rolling in a move that theoretically he’s been practising with Louis.

Jaymi lets out a whoop, so he must get the Quaffle to Ellie, who had been several feet in front of Harry when Stan’d decided to try to take his head off, and then Louis starts swearing, before Barbara announces a goal for Ravenclaw.

“Hey, Haz!” says Michelle, once Harry’s gotten himself back right side up on his broom, dazed, slightly off balance, but grinning ear to ear. “Where’d you learn that?”

Harry shrugs, opening his mouth to respond. “Um--”

“Oi, Louis!” snaps Nick, passing the Quaffle off to Ant. “How about we try _not_ teaching the competition.”

Louis scoffs. “Please!” he calls back. “Like Ravenclaw is really competition--”

Harry growls, puts on a burst of speed, and whacks one of the Bludgers off towards Ant, who yelps, and drops the Quaffle into a waiting Ellie’s arms. She goes speeding back around towards the goal posts, hurling the thing past the tip of Louis’ outstretched fingers. He catches it, but just barely, and Harry has to hold back a wince. That can’t have been comfortable.

Louis shakes it off, however, settling the Quaffle into his palm and giving it a quick heft.

Harry pulls up next to Louis and raises an eyebrow. “You were saying?”

Louis scowls at him, but his lip are twitching despite himself. “Beginners’ luck,” he tells Harry. Nick is waiting for him when he passes the Quaffle, shooting off towards the Ravenclaw goal posts.

Harry really should be focusing on that, but before he can do more than turn towards the main action of the match, Louis adds, quiet enough that Harry nearly misses it, “Nice moves, there, though.” And then the bastard smiles, in a way that turns Harry’s insides to mush and makes every nerve ending in his body sing.

Harry--

Harry goes to grab the tips of his broom, misses, and ends up nearly falling off it.

Michelle is left to deal with Stan and the Bludger he hits off towards Luke, while the other one goes speeding towards Taylor, who’s spotted the Snitch.

“Styles--Harry!” she shrieks, when the angry, black ball goes whizzing past her head, swerving to avoid it.

“Kind of busy!” Harry shouts back, mostly for show. Taylor can’t actually hear him, since she’s too high up, but the sentence grounds him. When he gets back up on his broom, no one really appears to have noticed, save Nick, who is grinning even as Josh Cuthburt goes on to score a goal, and Louis, who has an odd look on his face.

And of course Barbara Palvin, who is duty bound to announce Harry’s failures to the entire student body.

“And that was fifth year Harry Styles,” she says, sounding apologetic. “Not to be confused with Harry Potter, nearly falling off his broom.”

Harry sighs, flushing.

Taylor catches the snitch, but Slytherin wins the match, and the hug Louis gives Harry once they’ve touched down makes up for the embarrassing near fall.

Nick’s ensuing ten minute teasing spree about it all the way back to the castle, however, makes Harry want to punch him in the face. He’s not going to punch him in the face, because Harry is the bigger person.

“--and here I thought falling in love was just a _saying_ , or summat,” says Nick, grinning.

Harry doesn’t punch him in the face, but it’s a near thing. He does maybe make like he’s going to, and then laughs when Nick ends up tripping over his own feet. Being the bigger person is severely overrated. Especially if you’re friends with Nick Grimshaw.

\--

So Harry’s _not_ talking to Nick, but that’s not a problem, since he’s got Louis and Liam and Zayn and Niall to keep him busy now. For the most part, all the residual tension from the match has vanished, although Taylor is a little icy with Harry when they get partnered together in Potions for a week long project. Of course, she did catch the damn Snitch despite Hannah’s valiant efforts to fight dirty, and managed to lead Ravenclaw to about as close to a win as they could manage, so by the end of their last day together, Harry is able to get at least one smile out of her.

Louis is only insufferable once he realises Harry’s not actually bothered by him, and they spend the next few weeks virtually inseparable. They don’t share more than electives because of their year difference, but Harry has somehow managed to go an entire term without noticing that Louis is in both his Magical Theory and Muggle Art courses. Louis is terribly good at Magical Theory, passable in Art, and Harry spends most of the first week of February trying not to get caught giggling by their various teachers, whether it be in either of those two electives, or when they’re studying in the library or the Slytherin common room. Harry prefers the latter of those two, because it means more often or not, Nick is there frowning at him.

It takes about three days of Nick’s terrible jokes about falling and crushes before Harry gets fed up with him and stops sitting with Louis, Liam, and Zayn at the Slytherin table, and starts sitting with Louis, Liam, and Zayn and _Niall_ at the Hufflepuff table instead, leaving Nick grimfaced (to make a terrible pun that only Louis would laugh at) and scowling at him in the hallways.

It gets so bad that Niall corners him in History of Magic four days before Valentine’s Day and demands that he bury the hatchet, so to speak.

“He’s driving me up the wall,” Niall explains in an undertone, as Harry hurries to copy down Professor Binns’ lecture. He’s really only listening with half an ear, having had somewhat of a crisis a few weeks back and ended up studying a good quarter of the syllabus before Louis had found him and dragged him out for Quidditch practice.

“Come on, Haz,” he’d said, hauling Harry away from his parchment and books. “I’ll have you know that before I embraced the glory that is Quidditch Captain, I was a bloody fine Beater, and seeing how thoroughly we beat you last week, you need the practice.”

Even Taylor, who usually frowned heavily whenever she spotted Harry with anyone from an opposing team, never mind the Captain of the opposing team who’d beaten them, had to admit this was true. Having played his first few matches against Louis and his mate Stan, Harry has to agree; Louis was ace as a Beater, and even better as Keeper, which was why he’d jumped at the chance to switch positions when Justin Timberlake graduated.

So Harry doesn’t really _have_ to be taking notes, but he’s doing so anyway.

Niall isn’t even bothering, but seeing as Barbara is sitting two rows in front of them fast asleep while Eleanor Calder charms bits of parchment to hang from her hair like ornaments, Harry doesn’t think he has room to talk.

“We’re not even friends, Haz,” Niall continues. “Like, the other day he came up to me at the end of Defense Against the Dark Arts--which we don’t even _have_ together--and wanted to know if you were ‘alright.’” Niall puts quotes around the world ‘alright’ and then has to frantically rattle off the date Harry very frantically underlines for him when Professor Binns mistakes this for him knowing the answer.

It takes a few minutes for the two of them to feel comfortable talking after that, but once Professor Binns has resumed lecturing, Harry turns to hiss at Niall. “Well?” he whispers. “What did you tell him?”

“That you and Louis are getting married in the Spring and are expecting twins,” Niall replies promptly. He dodges the kick Harry sends towards his leg and adds, “At which point Grimshaw went a little green in the face and skulked off to do whatever it is seventh year Slytherins do.”

Harry misses Niall’s leg and knocks into the desk instead, which doesn’t attract Professor Binns’ attention, but does wake Barbara, who turns to Eleanor with narrowed eyes. “Niall,” Harry mumbles.

“Speaking of which, how is the father to be?” says Niall, grinning a little. “Last I heard you were getting private Quidditch lessons.”

Harry flushes hotly and dips his quill into the ink. “Shut up,” he hisses at Niall. “They’re not private lessons.”

Niall seems nonplussed. “Are you learning with anyone else?” he says. “Has Louis asked anyone else to call him Professor?”

Harry has a sudden flash of Louis in glasses, perched on his bed, smirking at him over the top of a book on Care of Magical Creatures. The room is suddenly very hot. “They’re not private lessons,” he repeats, dotting his ‘i’s with more force than necessary. “Need I remind you I’m not all that awful at Quidditch.”

Professor Binns makes an odd coughing noise at the front of the classroom, leaving Harry, Niall, and almost everyone else waiting with baited breath to see if he’s gone and fallen asleep again. After a short pause, he keeps lecturing, and the classroom visibly deflates.

“You’re not, are you?” Niall says with narrowed eyes. “Why is that?”

Harry flushes and doesn’t tell him that the only reason he’s gotten considerably better the past few years is because Louis is no longer playing against him as a Beater, and that the only reason Ravenclaw nearly beat Slytherin was because Nick Grimshaw is a dick. “Dunno,” he says.

Harry’d only gone out for the Ravenclaw team because he’d made the mistake of mentioning both Louis and his love and interest in Quidditch, to Niall over breakfast the morning after the whole peeing incident, at which point Niall had insisted that Harry join him at arse o’clock in the morning for the Hufflepuff tryouts, and then bribed at least three of Harry’s housemates into dragging him to Ravenclaw’s tryouts.

He’d only gotten onto the team because unlike everyone else going out for Beater, Harry was actually able to stay on his broom, and not because Gemma was Captain, as the nastier half of the Slytherin team liked to go on about. Also Michelle had liked him, although she did later admit mostly it was because Harry was close to Cara, a seventh year Gryffindor who he’d had Ancient Runes with the year before.

Harry had only gotten _decent_ at Quidditch last year when Louis was promoted to Captain and stopped playing as a Beater, which led to Ravenclaw beating Hufflepuff not even halfway through the season, a fact that Niall, who ended up catching the snitch and ending the game, has yet to forgive him for.

At the very least, Niall seems to realise Harry isn’t about to tell him all this. “Whatever,” he says. “The point is you really should talk to Nick, yeah.”

Harry sighs.

“Good man.” Niall thumps him on the back, before turning a charming smile on Professor Binns and answering his latest question without blinking twice.

Harry is left gaping at him, more than a little confused.

“What?” Niall shrugs at him. “You’re not the only one worried about O.W.L.’s.” Harry keeps staring at him, until Niall admits, cheeks a little pink, “You’re also not the only one who’s taken to studying with Za--with a sixth year.” A few moments later, having weathered Harry’s ‘this is news to me’ stare for another uncomfortable minute, Niall tells him to fuck off.

\--

He runs into Liam on his way to the dungeons, and has never been more pleased at the opportunity to drag his feet. He’s hoping to catch Nick just before dinner, because he doesn’t really feel up to having whatever awkward conversation they’re going to end up having. He’s also been going to dinner with Louis more often than not, and so he reckons this will save him the trouble of having to scour the Great Hall for the table they’ve decided on for the night. There’s really only so many times Harry can handle Louis darting to his feet with his hand in the air and a bright smile on his face shouting, “Harry, over here!” before he has a heart attack and dies of like, love, or something.

Liam’s carrying several rolls of parchment, his Charms textbooks, has one bag off his shoulder, and is frantically trying to tuck his shirt in with his non-existent free hand.

Professor Longbottom, at least, has the decency to wait till Liam’s not about to topple over, before reprimanding him about the shirt.

 “You know the rules, Mr. Payne,” says Professor Longbottom. “Five points.”

“Sorry, Professor,” Liam says breathlessly, sounding earnestly so and still clearly struggling, and Harry hurries to help him with the parchment, smiling politely at Professor Longbottom.

“Evening, Professor,” he says.

The man smiles at the both of them before vanishing up a flight of stairs, no doubt on his way to dinner as well.

“Thanks,” Liam tells Harry, after he’s gone. “Are you on your way to see Nick?” He doesn’t say Nick’s name with Louis’ usual amount of disdain, which is nice. Although, the fact that Harry has started to quantify Louis’ amount of disdain for Nick Grimshaw--the fact that Harry is actually _able_ to quantify Louis’ disdain for Nick Grimshaw--is worrying.

Something warm settles into the pit of Harry’s stomach.

“Yes, you?” he says. “You’re coming from...Charms?”

Liam visibly brightens, taking the stray rolls of parchment back from Harry and stuffing them into his bag, before starting to walk again. “Yeah, with Ravenclaw, ugh,” he says, and then seems to realise what he’s said. “I mean, erm, yay?” he manages, eyes caught on Harry’s bronze and blue tie.

Harry keeps a straight face for all of two seconds, before he breaks and ends up giggling, and Liam sets an elbow into his side.

“Mean,” says Liam. “I like your house well enough, when you’re not beating us at Quidditch.”

Gryffindor doesn’t play Ravenclaw till the end of the year, but after last year’s rousing defeat, Harry has high hopes. They’re missing Gemma this year, however, and while their new Keeper is halfway decent, Harry isn’t so sure they’ll be able to go up against the likes of Aiden Grimshaw. Or Danielle.

Harry shudders, and says as much to Liam, who colours slightly, and looks down at his feet.

Oh God. Harry really needs to work on _not_ speaking without thinking, because he’s pretty sure Louis mentioned something about Liam and Danielle, and Niall definitely caught them snogging around a corridor sometime last year.

Harry swallows, not sure if he should apologise, but before he can, Liam is turning a brilliant, if slightly dimmed smile on him.

“So what you’re saying is Ravenclaw is going to win this year, is it?” he says, as they round the corridor and reach the stone entry to the Slytherin Dungeon.

Liam rattles off the password without blinking and Harry follows him in with a wry grin.

“Yes,” he says. “Ravenclaw’s definitely going to win--we are, after all, the best.”

“Ravenclaw’s going to win what now?” says Louis, head popping up from where he appears to be lounging across Zayn’s lap on one of the ornamental, velvet sofas. Zayn’s got a roll of parchment perched on top of Louis’ lower back and a quill in his hand, and has got quite the long suffering look on his face. When he sees the both of them, he exchanges a look with Harry that has Harry grinning despite himself.

“The Quidditch Cup,” Harry tells him promptly, stepping around Liam. He’d go sit next to Louis on the sofa, as the other boy so obviously wants him to do, by the way he starts squirming around trying to get out of Zayn’s lap, but he did come down to the dungeons to talk to Nick, who he can see hovering around the doors to the boy’s dormitories looking squirrelly.

Louis snorts and Harry’s attention jumps back to him. “Right,” he says, kicking Zayn when the other lad makes a hissing noise and goes to shove him off his lap. “Are you forgetting we destroyed you last week?”

Harry shakes his head, amused. “By five points, Lou,” he says. “I don’t think that’s ‘destroying’.”

Louis continues as if he hadn’t spoken. “Have you hit your head this morning?” He turns to Liam, taking in the bag with the parchment and stack of books. “Did Liam run into you in the halls and brain you with a Charms text book?” He looks like he wants to mention Harry’s little falling fiasco, but very kindly doesn’t, and Harry falls maybe a smidge more in love with him. Not that that’s even possible, but regardless.

Liam rolls his eyes at Louis and sets his bag down on one of the stone tables. “Haha,” he says, unamused. “Very funny, Tommo.”

Louis shrugs and lifts both his hands as if to say, ‘I am, aren’t I?’

Liam pays him no heed, frowning down at his shirt. “Can I borrow a shirt, Zayn?”

When he does so, Harry notices that it’s singed around the edges, and slightly damp. Which makes absolutely no sense, logically speaking, and makes Harry very worried for sixth year Charms.

“Sure, bro,” says Zayn, finally getting fed up with Louis and smacking a hand down on his lower back to get him to sit still. “Stop that. If you’re going to be my table, Lou, you’re going to sit still.”

Louis squeaks, cheeks going bright pink, but stills. He steadfastly refuses to meet Harry’s eyes, glancing around the dungeon at anything but Harry, before settling on a pair of third years sitting in a corner staring at them.

“Good boy,” Zayn says, pleased, and Louis’ cheeks, if possible, go even darker.

“Piss off,” he mumbles, but finally meets Harry’s eyes. “Hey, Haz.”

Harry has never wanted the ground to swallow him whole as much as he does right now. “Hey--uh--” His voice sounds like it’s been left to die in a desert and then put through a cheese grater for good measure. “Hey, Lou.”

Louis grins at him, blushing less now. “So, head injuries?”

Harry raises an eyebrow at him. “What are you saying about my Quidditch team, Tomlinson?” he says, crossing his arms.

Louis looks like he’d rather like to cross his arms right back, but he keeps still across Zayn’s lap anyway. Because he’s still in Zayn’s lap. Sprawled across it with his tie undone and some ink dotting one high cheekbone, Louis is the picture of half-arsed studiousness, and Harry has never hated Zayn Malik like he hates Zayn Malik at that exact moment. Because Zayn, like the _devil he is_ , settles a hand on Louis’ lower back and fucking smirks up at Harry.

“Nothing good, I should hope,” says Nick, making his way out of the dormitories to join them on the opposite sofa. “You might want to go check on Payne--lad looked a little bit lost, last I heard.”

Zayn pauses, confused. “Liam?” he calls finally.

“I’m fine, Zayn!” Liam shouts back. “Just--why’s your shirt got so many bloody _buttons_ \--?” Liam’s voice breaks off, and then there’s a very loud, very painful ripping noise.

Zayn’s quill falls onto Louis’ back with a quiet whisper.

“Oi, Z, come on,” Louis protests, wiping at the line of ink down the back of his own white dress shirt and scrambling not to go falling onto the floor when Zayn shoves him off to go help Liam.

He flips Louis the finger as he goes.

“Fuck you too!” Louis shouts back, before settling onto the now vacant sofa with a grin. “You were saying?”

“That Slytherin is going to destroy Ravenclaw and win the Quidditch Cup?” says Nick.

Harry looks between Louis and Nick with mild concern. “Hey,” he tells Nick, drawing it out. “That’s not very nice.” After another quick glance between the two, he settles himself down on Nick’s sofa. This doesn’t go unnoticed by either of them, but surprisingly, neither of them go out of their way to make a big deal about it.

Nick’s smile is a little brighter and Louis’ mouth is a bit tighter, but Harry manages to get out of the Slytherin common room and down to dinner without either of them killing each other. And, sure, Louis clings to him all the way down to dinner, but Niall at least high fives him upon seeing the five of them entering the Great Hall together.

Niall’s chosen the Gryffindor Table tonight, and is sat at a bench alone, cheerfully piling sausages onto his plate without a care in the world.

Most of the Gryffindor Quidditch team is glaring at him suspiciously, and it looks like Danielle is about three seconds from heading over to do some sort of reconnaissance.

Liam just sighs, and goes to sit down next to Niall.

“Hey, Niall,” he says.

“Payne,” Niall says cooly. “Ready to lose?”

Liam sighs again, ignores the look Danielle is throwing at him, and turns to Harry. “Has he been like this all day?”

Harry barks out a laugh and takes the seat between them. “I’m surprised he’s even talking to you,” he tells him.

Liam snorts. “Can’t be worse than that one,” he says, gesturing over towards Louis, who plops down on the bench with one last narrowed glare towards Nick. “I was afraid for my life.”

“Ah, Leeyum,” Louis crows, grabbing Liam in something akin to an embrace. “It’s alright, I forgive you.” He presses in even closer and starts rubbing his face against Liam’s and possibly purring.

“Yay,” Liam manages. “Please stop touching me.”

Louis presses a smacking kiss to his other cheek and then all but shoves him into Zayn. “But I ran into Pezza on the pitch last night and I have to say--”

“Oi, Tomlinson!” calls Perrie from the Hufflepuff table. Her hair is dark, almost red-pink this morning with bits of Hufflepuff yellow tinging the edges. The bizarre colour combination works for her, somehow, despite the fact that Harry is having trouble deciding if she’s gone and coloured it for the match, for Valentine’s Day, or for both. “Watch your mouth!”

Louis mimes zipping his lips up in a rather Muggle gesture, before getting out his wand.

“Okay, that’s enough of that,” says Liam, shoving a hand into Louis’ robes before he can do more than raise his eyebrows.

“Why, Liam,” says Louis, pleased. “Don’t you think we’re moving a little fast?”

Liam’s ears pink, but he doesn’t flinch. “Shuddup,” he mumbles. “I’m just looking out for you--I think you’re nearly at negative points, and Zayn might actually kill you.”

Zayn doesn’t look up from where he’s been cutting his food into tiny pieces. “I wouldn’t kill him,” he says. “Ant and Danny might, though.” He says that last bit with all the concern of a man that would let them.

Louis very wisely lets it go.

\--

The first thing Harry thinks upon waking up is that he’s gone and gotten himself stuck in a time loop. It’s morning, he’s shirtless, and he’s definitely on the floor of the Slytherin common room. He appears to be halfway under the same pair of drapes, as well. This time, at least, he has a perfect recollection of how he got there, and that involves the roll of parchment Professor Flitwick had assigned detailing the do’s and don’t’s of illusionary charmwork, the three chapters Professor Slughorn had assigned regarding Confusing and Befuddlement Draughts, and Zayn bloody Malik.

The ‘bloody’ part is particularly important in that last bit, because when Harry turns his head to the side, he comes face to face with a sleeping Louis Tomlinson. Further investigation reveals that they’re essentially cuddling, Louis’ legs twined up with Harry’s and one of Louis’ hands resting across Harry’s rapidly beating heart.

Harry doesn’t swear, but that’s only because he’s basically paralyzed with fear. He’s also paralyzed with arousal, because Louis appears to be shirtless.

“Merlin’s left ballsack,” Harry says depressingly, staring up at the ceiling.

“I should hope not,” says a voice.

Harry startles, muscles locking into place.

And--lovely. Nick Grimshaw is here, looming over Harry and the still sleeping Louis, grinning like the cat that got the cream.

“I’m still angry at you,” Harry tells him, reaching up a hand to pet through Louis’ hair. It’s unfairly soft, smells faintly of apples, and does nothing to help Harry with the fear and arousal situation. At the very least, he’s not dealing with any morning wood, since the fear thing.

Louis shifts, snuffling into the stone floor, and dropping a leg between Harry’s.

Harry swallows.

Evidently Louis has no such fear related qualms.

He’s not about to tell Nick this, however, so Harry forgoes dignity and curls around Louis like an overprotective octopus.

“Bugger off, Grimmy,” he groans.

Nick’s grin somehow gets even wider. “Alright,” he says raising both his hands. “But riddle me this, Ravenclaw. Valentine’s Day is in three days.”

Harry shrugs at him. “So?”

“So, are you going to ask the lovely Tomlinson out?”

Harry blinks at him. “You think Louis is lovely?”

There’s a beat.

“Why?” says Louis, sounding half asleep. “Do you think I’m not?”

Harry’s heart threatens to beat out of his chest.

“Why’re we on the floor?” Louis continues, unconcerned and yawning. He stretches, toes curling against Harry’s shins, before better tucking his chin into Harry’s neck. And then he goes rigid.

“So, you were saying, Nick?” Harry says, with false brightness, before he remembers what it was that Nick was saying, and decides the best course of action is to summon one of the sofa cushions, badly enough that it smacks into Nick’s face.

“We don’t, um,” says Louis, not getting off of Harry’s chest, but probably blushing, judging by the stripe of heat Harry feels somewhere around his left nipple. “We don’t have to talk about this, right?”

Nick makes a muffled noise through the cushion.

Harry ignores him. “Of course not, Lou,” he says kindly, helping the other boy up and pointedly not looking at him in all his shirtless glory.

“Thanks,” says Louis, also looking at the ground. Harry focuses on his feet, on the dark lettering across his ankles and frowns.

“Muggle tattoos?”

Louis grins at him, looking much less embarrassed by the change of subject. “Yeah, got them for Christmas,” he says. “Zayn knows a guy--but, um, don’t tell Liam, yeah?” He drags a hand through his hair. “It’s not technically legal.” He says that last bit with quite a bit of distaste, as if he’s swallowed a lemon.

“They’re cool,” Harry says, honestly. “Very, um, permanent.”

Louis laughs. “Well, yeah, Haz, that’s sort of the point.” His smiles softens, before he pauses. “Wait, why are you here, again?’

Harry smacks a hand to his chest. “How dare you,” he says.

Louis cackles at him, amused. “No, I mean, why were we shirtless on the floor?”

He raises a good point--Harry remembers studying, being kicked out of the library by a very put upon Madam Pince, giggling down the corridors towards the Ravenclaw common room, being kicked out of the tower by an equally put upon and still slightly simmering Taylor Swift, and finally taking up residence in the Slytherin dungeons. Niall and Liam had been there, before Liam had bowed off in favour of sleeping before early morning Quidditch practice, which had prompted Niall to leave as well, not before staring Liam down in a way that was incredibly unsettling.

None of this explains the shirtless cuddling on the floor.

Zayn wanders out of the dormitories fully dressed with his hair styled to perfection. “Tommo was weeping,” he says promptly. “Harry was petting him.”

Nick makes another muffled noise behind the cushion, which Harry is relatively certain he’s holding against his face.

“Right,” Harry manages. “I mean--why?”

Zayn runs a hand through his hair. “Homework,” he says. “And, um, well, I think you started crying about O.W.L.’s at some point, and I think Tommo was about to ki--”

“Thanks, Zayn, you’re a true mate, really,” Louis interrupts loudly, sounding incredibly panicked. “But I’m sure you were very busy before we interrupted you--”

Zayn raises one perfect eyebrow. He and Louis appear to be having some sort of complicated conversation with their eyes, and whatever it is, Harry gets the feeling Louis is not winning. So, argument then?

“I was in someone’s lap?” he says, testing the air. “I think?” He has an awful feeling someone kissed him--or he kissed someone, but the lap thing is safer.

Zayn’s lips twitch. “Well--” he starts to say, before Louis tackles him to the ground.

Harry stares at the two of them, at a loss for words, as Louis puts his hands in Zayn’s hair and Zayn starts swearing and trying to bite him.

“Fire whisky,” Stan says kindly, emerging from the dormitories, also fully dressed. “I might have spiked your tea with fire whisky.”

Harry blinks. “Huh.”

The cushion has fallen off of Nick’s face, and the seventh year has got an odd look on his face, but Harry’s more than a little distracted by Louis, who emerges victorious from his battle with Zayn with a gleeful look on his face.

\--

Two days later, it’s the day before Valentine’s Day and Nick is cornering Harry after breakfast and thrusting a box of chocolates into his hands.

“Here,” he says, as Niall makes a terrible comment and Barbara starts hitting him with her bag. The two of them don’t seem to notice Harry, cornered outside the Great Hall.

Harry stares down at the box of chocolates and back up at Nick, then back at the box of chocolates. “Oh, Nick,” he starts to say.

“No, no, absolutely not-- _no_ ,” says Nick, stepping away from Harry like he’s got some sort of disease. “You are not letting _me_ down easy, Ravenclaw.”

Harry blinks, startled by the nickname, and more than a little confused.

“It’s the solution to your little Tomlinson problem,” Nick continues, still looking a little bit put off at the prospect of dating Harry.

Harry’s pretty sure _he’s_ the one who should be feeling put off, since Harry is lovely and has two flowery pre-Valentine’s-Day-love-letters to prove that.

He glances down at the chocolates again, confused. “Chocolate,” he decides finally. “Chocolate is the answer?”

Nick shakes his head at him. “Harold,” he starts to say. “They’re not _real_ chocolates--”

The rest of what he was going to say gets lost in translation, as the bell signals the start of class, and Niall comes hurtling back around the corner and grabs him by his tie.

“We’re late to class, come on, you bastard, McGonagall is going to skin us--”

Harry flounders after him, trying to read Nick’s lips and failing to parse the end of his sentence.

He stuffs the chocolates into his bag. Whatever Nick had been trying to tell him couldn’t have been _that_ important.

\--

Harry would have forgotten about the chocolates, if it weren’t for the fact that he trips on a root on the way to Herbology and ends up spilling the entire contents of his bag. The love letters, textbooks, a bunch of quills, and the chocolates go scattering at his feet, leaving Harry scrambling to grab them before someone notices.

Luckily for him, Niall had decided to walk him down to the greenhouses, and so his friend very kindly steps on the letters. Of course, in doing so, Niall ends up spotting the tin of chocolates.

“Harry,” says Niall. “Why have you got a tin of chocolates?”

Harry picks them up and stuffs them into his bag without comment. “I’ll just be a minute, yeah?” he tells Johnny and Taylor, who’d been walking down with him and Niall before the unfortunate fall. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

Taylor gives him a shrewd look, but goes, Johnny scrambling to keep up with her. They’re joined by the Slytherins, looking less than pleased at the prospect of whatever Professor Longbottom has got for them today. The syllabus had called for leather gloves, and that never bodes well.

“Well?” Niall goes and crosses his arms across his chest, looking expectant.

“It’s not what you think,” Harry blurts out, seemingly unable to help himself. It’s not, because Nick gave him them this morning in order to woo Louis, but Niall wasn’t there, and now Niall’s narrowing his eyes at him, and Harry should have led with that.

“Has someone been giving you chocolates?” says Niall. He bends to pick up one of the love letters, unfurls it, and makes a face at the awful perfume sprayed around the signature. Harry knows for a fact that that’s the one from that one fourth year who’s always giving him things on Valentine’s--Lewis something? Niall looks less than impressed. “Harry,” he starts to say.

“I can explain,” says Harry, a bit frantic.“I mean, no one gave me them--” Harry continues, soundly digging himself a hole in the ground. Perhaps Professor Longbottom can teach a class on how to grow your own Harry, at this rate.

Niall’s eyes narrow even more. “The ribbon’s silver and green,” he says, straight to the point, and then stops. “Hang on.”

Harry eyes the love note in Niall’s hand, the one under his shoe, and decides he’d rather take his chances. He starts off towards the greenhouses.

“Harry.” Niall catches him in two strides, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Did Louis give you those?”

“No,” Harry says, with great dignity, trying not to sound all that affected by the prospect of Louis giving him chocolates for Valentine’s Day.

Niall doesn’t let up. “Aw, Hazza,” he coos, reaching out to pinch Harry’s cheek. “That’s adorable.”

“They’re not from Louis,” Harry repeats, blushing. “Now--stop that.” He bats Niall’s hands away from his face and snatches Lewis’ letter back. “Haven’t you got a class?”

Niall ignores him. “I have to say, I’m very proud of you,” he says, patting Harry’s cheek one last time. “I didn’t think you had it in you.” When Harry groans and slaps a hand over his mouth, his lick his palm and continues, “Although, I don’t know if Tommo’s too keen on--” he twists to read the box, “‘Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Chocolate’... isn’t that jelly beans--”

Harry elbows him in the side and manages to escape his grasp. “None of your business, Niall!” he sputters, definitely blushing now, and definitely going to murder Nick--how dare he give him defunct chocolates for Louis-- “But if you must know, they’re not from Louis. They’re for Louis.”

And that _really_ wasn’t what Harry had meant to say at all, was it.

Niall’s mouth does snap shut, but instead of looking properly chagrined and shut down, Harry’s best mate is grinning at him like they’re not about to both be late to class. “Are they, now?” he says, pleased as can be.

Which is why immediately following dinner, Harry is standing outside the Slytherin common room trying to get up the courage to knock on the door so he can give Louis the damn chocolates.

Niall’s with him, because Niall is a good friend, but Niall is also the reason Harry is currently in this situation in the first place.

Harry stares at the dungeon door in front of him, looks down at the chocolate, back up at the door, glances over at Niall. Sighs. “I don’t really think this is a good idea--”

“Hi, Harry,” says Liam brightly, rounding a corner, carrying a bag. His eyes sort of slide off of Niall, who is suddenly rigid next to Harry. “Niall.”

“Payne,” Niall replies.

Liam heaves a long sigh, announces the password, and steps past them into the common room. He and Harry both know Niall’s not really taking the Quidditch situation this seriously--Liam, because he’d ended up apologising profusely to Niall a few days ago after he accidentally stepped on his robes and Niall had simply patted him on the back and moved on; Harry, because he’d cornered Niall in the Hufflepuff common room and refused to get off him till he stopped being an arse to Liam, at which point Niall had said it was mostly for show and could he go study Divination with Zayn and Liam, please?

That being said, Niall is still refusing to call him anything other than ‘Payne.’

Louis’ been doing it as well, but Liam has no qualms about whacking him about the head with a textbook.

“Harry,” says Niall, interrupting his thoughts. “What are you waiting for?”

Harry looks between the door, which Liam has been holding open, and back at the chocolates. “Are you really sure he likes me--”

“Harry.” Niall puts both hands on his shoulders and stares into Harry’s eyes. “Go get your man.”

And then he gives Harry a quick shake, nods, and shoves him into the Slytherin common room.

Louis isn’t there. Harry knew this, actually, had tried to tell Niall this when his friend first dragged him out of the Great Hall before he’d had time to do more than finish dinner, but it hadn’t _really_ sunk in till he was stuck in the Slytherin common room with Liam at his side holding a box of chocolates for a person who was not there.

For a good few seconds, Harry doesn’t move.

Louis’ friends, Stan and Hannah, appear to be playing a very intense game of Muggle cards, which Harry thinks might be Solitaire and thus not actually a two person game, while Zayn’s friend, Danny Riach, is bent over a Transfiguration text, studying for his N.E.W.T.’s.

None of them seem to notice Harry, until Liam clears his throat and goes to take a seat.

Stan looks up first. “Hey, Liam,” he says pleasantly. “Are you looking for Lou?”

“I think you mean how’ve you gotten the password, actually,” says Hannah, but in good fun. Because the two of them are on the Quidditch team, they like to engage in your usual amount of interhouse banter with Liam in public, but Harry knows firsthand that after that first year of Louis-Liam arguing, they’ve all got on like they’re not in separate houses. It was part of the reason they’d ended up welcoming Harry into the fold, albeit slightly more reluctantly, seeing as Harry was a fifth year and a Ravenclaw, and therefore prone to an earlier curfew and studying.

“--I’m actually looking for Zayn,” says Liam, when Harry tunes back in. “We’ve got a Divination exam next week.”

“Ah,” says Stan. “He’s not here either.” He pauses. “What about you, H?”

Harry opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, Stan seems to notice the tin of chocolates.

“Are those chocolates?” he says, getting to his feet and leaving Hannah to their losing game of Solitaire.

Harry closes his mouth. “I--yes?” he says, not really aiming for a question. “I mean, is Louis here--?”

Stan doesn’t appear to notice him, having picked up the box and discarded the lid in favour of taking a bite. “These are good,” he tells Harry. “Where’d you get them?”

Harry was under the impression that Nick had made them himself, so he shrugs.

Liam shoots him a sort of apologetic look from where he’s set himself up next to Danny to wait for Zayn. Harry tries not to read too much into that.

Stan has stuffed two pieces into his mouth and has started on a third, before it occurs to him that it’s the day before Valentine’s Day. “Ah, bollocks,” he says. “Were these for someone?”

And this would be Harry’s moment, his moment to say, ‘yes, they are in fact for your best mate Louis Tomlinson whom I’ve had a terrible crush on since second year.’ It’s perfect--Niall’s probably somewhere down in the kitchens making up for his lack of second helpings, clapping for him--only the door to the dungeons swings open and Louis walks in with Zayn, laughing at something Eleanor Calder is saying.

Harry blinks, tries to get the image of Louis and the Hufflepuff girl to translate properly in his brain, and is suddenly not very interested in staying.

They’re not quite holding hands, because it doesn’t look comfortable or all that natural, and as soon as Eleanor realises they’ve all got an audience she stops trying to fix that, but the look on Louis’ face has Harry’s stomach dropping.

 “Hazza!” Louis says brightly, sounding thrilled to see him. He brushes past Eleanor without glancing back, making his way towards Harry, and Harry really can’t face him right now. “You’ve met Eleanor, right?”

“Yeah, we’ve got Charms together,” Harry blurts, abandoning the chocolates with Stan and striding towards the door. “And I’ve just remembered I’ve got homework for that, so...” He trails off and is out the door before Liam can finish calling after him about the chocolates. “Keep them!” he calls. “They’re for everyone!”

\--

He ends up in the kitchens with Niall, pointedly not moping and trying to do Astronomy homework. Of course, Harry’s in no mood to actually be doing work, let alone studying, so he’s actually been eating his way through most of Niall’s chocolate frogs.

“Niall,” Harry says, which essentially means ‘throw another piece of chocolate into the air so I can catch it in my mouth and therefore feel like I’ve accomplished something.’ So far, Harry’s been three for three. He’s feeling very accomplished.

“You’re moping,” says Niall, but he reaches for another frog anyway, grabbing the slowest one and flinging it into Harry’s waiting mouth.

The chocolate is warm and gooey and tastes like ashes on Harry’s tongue.

“So explain it to me again,” says Niall, as if Harry’s entire world hasn’t ended.

Harry’s not sure how, but he somehow manages to get through the entire explanation without breaking out into tears or sounding like the world is over. He’s maybe being a tad bit too overdramatic, but they’ve got O.W.L.’s and Louis doesn’t like him and Niall has spent the entire month pretending to be angry at Liam, so Harry feels justified in dramatics.

“Ah.” Niall throws him another frog. “Didn’t Eleanor try to ask Louis out like months ago?”

Harry pauses. “What?”

Niall latches onto his pause with glee. “Yeah, like, ages ago, and it was kind of embarrassing--I almost felt bad--”

“Did he say yes?” Harry wants to know. He doesn’t really remember any of this happening, and he feels like he should. “Where was I?”

Niall opens his mouth, and then closes it.

Harry narrows his eyes. “What?” he says, reaching around Niall to grab his own chocolate frog this time and plopping it in his mouth. The cards are lying in a pile where Niall had flung them in favour of the sweets, and Harry glances down at them, turning over one with Ron Weasley on it idly.

“You, um,” says Niall. “You were in the Hospital Wing.” He pauses. “It was the day after the Whomping Willow Incident.”

Harry swallows painfully around his chocolate frog. “Oh,” he says. The Whomping Willow Incident involved Harry, Niall, Niall’s friends from Hufflepuff, Louis Tomlinson’s unfairly attractive arse, and several apples they’d nabbed from the Great Hall during breakfast; Harry’d been juggling, as per some ridiculous request of Niall’s friends, when Louis’d wandered by, knocked into Stan, dropped a book, bent down to retrieve the book, and somehow missed the ensuing trauma when Harry lost control of the apples and ended up stumbling into the Whomping Willow. None of the ensuing panic had been pretty. Louis’ arse, however, was.

“Yeah,” says Niall. “Anyway, you were saying--?” he starts to ask, before there appears to be somewhat of a commotion outside the kitchens, and the portrait swings open to reveal Nick, Alexa, and a reluctant looking Pixie.

“No, you tickle it, you twat,” Alexa is in the middle of saying. “Like--honestly, Grimshaw, what the _fuck_ \--Oh.” She breaks off. “Hi, Harry.”

Harry manages to smile, because he likes Alexa well enough and she’s in his house.

“Styles!” says Nick, sounding pleased.

“Hi, Grimmy,” Harry says sadly, flopping back down in Niall’s lap and silently demanding pets.

Niall strokes his fingers through his curls without any more prompting.

“Horan,” says Nick.

Niall narrows his eyes at him. “This is your fault,” he says, clutching Harry’s entire face to his chest. Harry is struck very suddenly by a feeling of déjà vu.

Nick raises both his hands. “My fault?” he says, still sounding amused. “What have I done now?”

Pixie and Alexa have vanished in search of food, quietly greeting and thanking the house elves. Harry breathes in the faint honey scent of Niall’s robes and focuses on the faint background hum of their voices.

“You’re the one who gave Harry the chocolates in the first place,” continues Niall, clutching Harry’s head tighter. “And told him Louis likes him.”

There’s a pause. Harry contemplates letting Niall smother him to death.

“Are you saying Tomlinson _doesn’t_ like Harold here?” says Nick, after a few more awkward moments.

Niall appears to shrug. “Fair point,” he admits. “But the other stuff is still true.”

“I don’t see why my giving Haz magical chocolates has anything to do with that--”

“Right,” says Niall, releasing Harry. “Which is entirely the problem--you weren’t thinking, Grimshaw, and now Harry’s gone and given them to the entirety of Slytherin House.”

“Hang on, magical chocolates?” says Harry, finally sitting up.

Nick has gone a bit pale, nearly green, and his mouth has fallen open.

“What?” says Niall. “Is there something on my face?” He reaches up a hand to start patting at his cheeks. “Is it Peeves? Bloody bastard hasn’t forgiven me for that thing last week with the apples and the broomsticks--”

“The, uh, entirety of Slytherin house?” says Nick, sounding hoarse.

Niall stops talking. “Yes,” he says slowly. “Right, Haz?”

“Well, mostly the sixth and seventh years,” Harry concedes. “But, yeah. I panicked.” He turns to Nick. “What were you saying about magical?”

Nick gulps, for lack of a better word. He also doesn’t look any less green. “They, um,” he says. “I, um.”

“You, um,” says Niall, amused.

“Imighthavespikedthemwithalovepotion,” Nick says, in one great, unintelligible burst.

Harry blinks furiously. “Pardon?” he manages.

“Ravenclaws,” mutters Pixie.

“Slytherins,” replies Alexa, smacking her in the back of the head.

“A love potion.” Nick isn’t meeting anyone’s eyes. “With, um, your hair.”

Harry blinks a few more times, letting that sink in. “Oh,” he says again, before the implications of that sentence click. “Hang on--you were going to let me give Louis a love potion?”

“Sorry,” says Nick, rubbing at the back of his head. “I tried to tell you--”

“Do you know how illegal that is, Nick?” Harry continues, maybe panicking a little bit. “Or how awful that is--Nick!”

Nick raises both his hands. “What?” he says. “I wasn’t actually going to let you--”

“You were going to let me give Louis Tomlinson a love potion you made with my hair--”

“Guys,” interrupts Niall. “Can we return to the problem at hand?”

Harry pauses with his mouth open and turns to face Niall. And then he looks over at Nick, horrified. Nick seems to get it about the same time Harry does, hands dropping back down to his sides, before he and Harry both are scrambling to their feet.

“You gave the entirety of Slytherin house a love potion,” says Nick, in a rush, as they push through the doors and start for the stairs.

Harry points back at him. “Just the sixth and seventh years! And _you_ gave me the chocolates!” he cries. “This is _your_ fault!”

“Yeah, well!” says Nick, as they race pass portraits and students alike. “You weren’t supposed to actually give them to anyone--”

“Nick, I swear, I will find a way to ensure you fail _all of your N.E.W.T.’s_ \--”

“That’s such a _Ravenclaw_ way of thinking about things--”

“You’re such a bloody _Slytherin_ \--”

“Okay!” says Niall, coming up behind them and grabbing them both by the ears. He has to reach up to get Nick, but he does it anyway. “Enough of _that_ ,” he says, beginning to frog march them towards the dungeons. “Haz, you’re going to stay behind me in case whatever Arseface here has done has the entirety of Slytherin house in a frenzy.”

Nick goes to speak, but Niall does _something_ that has him squeaking instead.

Harry shoots him a triumphant and pleased look.

“And Grimshaw is going to make an antidote. ASAP.”

They’ve reached the door.

“Password,” Niall barks at Nick, who rattles it off like he’s not two years their senior and actually a part of the house in question. “Awesome, so we know the plan--” Niall continues to say, shoving Nick into through the hole in the wall and hauling Harry in after him, before pausing.

It’s not really the entirety, nor is it all of the sixth and seventh years, but Louis, Liam, Zayn, and Eleanor are all gathered around Stan and Hannah’s game of what now looks to be Poker. They’re all in varying states of disarray--Liam appears to be missing a shirt, Zayn’s got his tie and boxer briefs on but not much of anything else, Stan appears to be missing trousers, Hannah is unashamedly in her bra, and Louis might only have a cushion covering his dignity. Alarm bells start going off in Harry’s head, even as he realises Eleanor’s friend and Liam’s ex Danielle has joined them, and Niall says, “Aw, are you guys playing Strip Poker?” He lets go of Harry’s arm. “I can’t believe you’re doing it without me.”

“We can do it over the summer, Ni,” says Harry, trying to look around Niall’s shoulder to see if anyone looks more inclined to kiss him. Particularly Danielle, who’s held quite a bit of a grudge since Harry nearly took off her head his first match of second year. But aside from looking embarrassed about having been caught nearly naked (in Liam’s case), none of them look any different.

Harry swallows again. “Erm,” he says. “Hi?”

The room seems to unfreeze.

“Hey, Haz,” says Zayn, settling back down on one of the sofas. “Chocolates were ace, bro.”

Harry’s eyes dart between the empty box and their friends. Niall elbows him in the side. “Cool,” Harry gets out. “I’m glad you liked them.”

“Yeah.” Stan gets to his feet, stretching, and laying his cards up facedown. “I bend.”

“Fold,” Harry says reflexively, and then winces. He goes still again, waiting.

“I told you,” says Louis finally. He doesn’t move the cushion, which does nothing to help with the warning glaring in Harry’s brain, because he might not be wearing _anything_.

“Yeah, yeah.” Stan waves a hand and rolls his eyes. “But, Styles.”

Harry snaps to attention, mind going blessedly silent as he tries to decide if he’s in the clear yet.

Nick starts muttering to himself about ingredients and his own failures in the corner. Niall elbows him in the side as well.

“Where’d you get the chocolates?” says Stan, grabbing the cushion from Louis with a grin. “I didn’t know they made them in that flavor--thought it was just a jelly bean thing.”

Louis squawks, as he is in fact not wearing anything but the cushion, and Harry’s mouth goes very dry. “Oh, um,” he says, pinking in the cheeks and meeting Stan’s eyes, even as Liam has the courtesy to hand Louis his discarded shirt. “I dunno. My mum sent me them.”

Stan sits down on the cushion. “Huh,” he says. “Well, tell her they’re awesome.”

“Will do,” says Harry, before his brain gets the better of him. “Listen, this is going to sound awful, but do any of you have a ridiculous and seemingly unprovoked urge to climb me like a tree--”

“Okay!” says Niall, grabbing him by the ear again. “Well, Hazza and I will just be going,” he says, loudly and addressing the room. “Seeing as we are but lowly fifth years.” He glances around pointedly at Eleanor. “And also not Slytherins.”

“We should go too, then,” says Eleanor, prodding Danielle in the shoulder. “Bye, Louis.”

Louis doesn’t look away from where he’s been staring at Harry since Harry’s unfortunate outburst. “Bye,” he says.

Liam stands as well, glancing between his shirt and the door. “I’ll just, um, leave you that, Lou,” he says, bundling his robes better around his bare chest. “Bye.”

“See you,” says Zayn, completely unfazed by the nudity, leaning back against the sofa and glancing towards the edge of the Great Lake.

“Awesome,” says Niall, and tugs Harry out of the room.

When it’s time for Danielle and Liam to head off to Gryffindor Tower, and Eleanor and Niall to leave them for the Hufflepuff Basement, Niall pats Harry on the back, and pulls him in for a hug. “Good thing Grimshaw’s so bloody awful at potions, right?” he says.

Harry hugs him back half-heartedly. “He’s best in his year, I thought,” he mumbles, but Niall just presses a smacking kiss to his cheek and strides off towards his own common room.

“Night, Haz,” he says cheerfully. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh,” says Eleanor, suddenly blushing. “Tomorrow _is_ Valentine’s Day, isn’t it?”

Harry turns to look at her, shaking his head. “Oh, um, yes,” he says politely. “Good night.”

Eleanor pauses, seeming unsure, before she darts up on her toes and presses a quick kiss to Harry’s other’s cheek. “Night, Harry,” she says quietly. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

And maybe that was when Harry should have started to realise things weren’t as alright as he first assumed, but it was late, he’d just seen Louis Tomlinson’s naked dick, and he was slightly distracted.

\--

The first thing Harry realises upon waking up is that, for some reason, the sun hasn’t risen yet. Usually Harry sleeps as late as he possibly can, before grudgingly heading out of bed, grudgingly taking a shower, and arriving in the Great Hall to greet an unfairly awake Niall and unfairly awake Louis for breakfast. The morning after his little love potion scare, he wakes up before the sun, for apparently no reason.

“Morning,” says Zayn.

“Morning,” Harry replies, laying back in his bed and trying to go back to sleep.

“Did you sleep well?”

Harry yawns, blinking open one eye to stare at Zayn.

Zayn stares back him, curled towards him on the bed with his cheek in one palm, looking unfairly model like with his cheekbones and perfect hair.

“Fine, thank you,” says Harry, even though he hadn’t slept well, having been tormented with nightmares where the Giant Squid had eaten Nick’s chocolates, which actually worked, and spent the entire rest of Valentine’s Day following Harry around and singing Celestina Warbeck at him at the top of its lungs. Gills? Harry shakes his head and yawns again.

“I’m glad,” says Zayn, sounding pleased. “You deserve to sleep well, Harry.”

Harry blinks, a bit taken aback by his friend’s sincerity. “Thank you,” he says slowly, continuing to blink in the hopes that his brain will wake up. “Did you sleep well, too?”

“Not as well as you, I bet,” says Zayn, eyelashes dipping. “I was up late finishing your Astronomy homework.”

Harry opens his mouth, and then closes it. “You what?” he says hoarsely.

“And then when I was here, I thought why not do _all_ your homework, so...” Zayn trails off, as if Harry hadn’t spoken. “I was thinking of you.”

Harry is just starting to be disturbed when he realises that Zayn isn’t in his year. Hell, Zayn isn’t even in Ravenclaw, so why the _fuck_ is he in the Ravenclaw Boys’ Dormitory. And Harry’s bed. Zayn is in Harry’s bed. Harry--

Harry falls out of his bed, getting tangled in the blankets and the royal blue curtains, and making Johnny groan at him from the bed over.

“Harry,” says his friend. “It’s too early.”

“Sorry,” says Harry. And then, “Zayn?”

“Yeah?”

“What are you doing here?” Harry has no idea how this is possible--it shouldn’t be possible, because while there’s no magical charm on the stairs to the Boys’ Dorm, you need to answer a riddle to get in and no one but Ravenclaws and sometimes a very hungry Niall Horan are supposed to be able to get in.

Zayn doesn’t answer him, just continues to stare at him pleasantly. “You have very green eyes, didn’t you know?” he says.

Harry debates rolling under his bed and staying there. He supposes he’s lucky he didn’t decide to sleep naked last night. Although--Harry glances down to make sure he did, in fact, choose to put on pants last night, and breathes a sigh of relief when he sees that he has. It’s still awkward, however.

Zayn continues to stare at him, an odd, almost dreamy expression on his face. He’s fully dressed as well, which Harry is infinitely thankful for. Not that that helps much, because Zayn Malik fully dressed in slight disarray is almost worse than Zayn Malik without any clothes on. Zayn’s quiff is listing sadly to one side and he’s got bags under his eyes, but he somehow manages to make that look ruggedly sexy, as opposed to looking like a tired student.

“Very green,” Zayn says. “Like Harry Potter’s.”

If there was any doubt in Harry’s mind that Nick’s chocolates were to blame, there isn’t any now. He thinks Rita Skeeter had made that same comparison four years ago, when Harry had been starting at Hogwarts and there’d been one or two articles about ‘other Harrys to watch at Hogwarts’ amongst all the other ones about Harry Potter’s newborn son. That Zayn has mentioned it now, instead of making a face and going on about how he once overheard Hermione Granger in the Leaky Cauldron talking about how _awful_ that woman was, speaks more than any breaking or entering could.

But, like, the breaking and entering only to watch Harry sleep is pretty self explanatory, Harry has to say.

He very gently lets his head thud back against the floor. “Right. I’m going to kill Nick.”

“Mmmm.” Zayn doesn’t seem all that concerned about this confession “Would you like help?”

Harry stares up at the ceiling for a few moments longer contemplating his life. He’s not taken his O.W.L.’s yet, nor has he worked up the courage to snog Louis Tomlinson. Harry cannot give up. Speaking of Louis, however, he’s pretty sure everyone in Slytherin ate those chocolates.

“Harry?” Zayn sounds worried, now. “You didn’t hit your head, did you? Do you need Madame Pomfrey?”

“You need Madame Pomfrey,” Harry mumbles, before raising his voice. “No, I’m fine, Zayn,” he lies through his teeth. “But you didn’t happen to see anyone else from Slytherin on your way here, did you?”

That gets Zayn’s attention, and he scowls, while still looking unfairly attractive. “Yeah,” he says, shaking his head. “Tommo was trying to get me to help him paint you something.”

“Paint me something,” repeats Harry, to be sure. “What, um--”

Which is when the door to the Ravenclaw Boys’ Dormitory bangs open, and Taylor Swift comes striding into the room.

“Harry Styles,” she says through gritted teeth. She appears considerably more pink than usual, dripping with it, even, and a closer look reveals that it’s paint.

Taylor is dripping in pink paint. The stuff’s all in her hair, covering most of her face and the near-sheer, lacey pyjamas she’s got on, as well as what looks to be a bathrobe, wadded up into an ugly pink ball in one hand.

“I told you that wasn’t the Boys’ Dorm, _Liam_ ,” comes Louis’ voice, with surprisingly vehemence, from somewhere over her shoulder.

“Sorry.” Liam doesn’t sound apologetic at all. “My mistake.” There’s a scuffle, and then Liam’s head appears behind Taylor’s. “Harry, hi!” he says brightly. He’s in his pyjamas as well, although it appears that Liam sleeps shirtless and in glaring bright Gryffindor red and gold trousers and nothing else, so when he moves to enter the dorm (and is thwarted by the still dripping Taylor) Harry has to swallow heavily at how low they sit on his hips. Like, that’s indecent. And seriously making Harry reconsider which sixth year he wants to sleep with.

He manages an awkward wave. “Morning, Liam.”

Liam waves back, far too chipper for how early it is. He’s got a paintbrush in one hand, which waves about with his arm. “Are you looking forward to the weekend?”

Harry had been, actually, having made plans to visit Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes with Louis during their Hogsmeade trip, as Niall had a date with Barbara and Nick was playing at being too cool for school sponsored outings. Or...something.

Now, mostly, he’s just hoping this is all a very bad dream and he can go back to sleep.

“Of course he’s looking forward to the weekend,” says Louis’ voice, before Louis’ head pops up behind Liam, also brandishing a paintbrush in his hand. He’s also holding a bucket, which he quickly shoves into Liam’s hand before Taylor can spot it and decide to break her spotless record as Prefect and hex him all the way back to Platform Nine and Three Quarters. “He’s going with _me_.”

Harry sighs, because this is true, and he had been looking forward to it, but at this point, he’s starting to think it’s probably best to stay in the castle--maybe even limit himself to the Great Hall for meals and the library for studying, since Slytherin house seems to have somewhat of an aversion to the place as a whole.

“Right, Hazza?” Louis continues, and unfortunately, Harry’s stomach gives a pleasant little flop. He very frantically tries to remember if Louis used that tone of voice with him _prior_ to the chocolates.

“Erm,” says Harry, which Louis takes to mean yes, and shoves Liam’s face into the floor, sprawling halfway on top of him and getting pink on the floor near Taylor’s feet.

She steps back with a look of distaste on her face.

“Ha,” Louis tells Liam, who grumbles into the floorboards. “Morning, H.”

 “Morning, Lou,” says Harry, unable to help the nickname or the smile that spreads across his face.

“Why does he get a ‘Lou’?” says Liam, where Louis has him shoved into the floor. “Why don’t I get a ‘Lou’?”

“Because your name doesn’t shorten to Lou, _Liam_ ,” says Zayn, accent particularly heavy on Liam’s name. “Mine doesn’t either, but you could if you want,” he adds, smiling coyly at Harry.

Louis makes a face. “No, he can’t,” he says, snappishly. “I’m Lou. I’m the only Lou. Harry’s Lou. No one else’s.”

“But what about Harry’s friend--” Liam tries to interrupt, and Louis shoves him harder into the floorboards.

“No one else’s,” he says through gritted teeth. “Right, Haz?”

Harry’s starting to get whiplash from all the jarring personality shifts, depending on who they’re all speaking to. “Oh, um,” he says, not sure how he should respond as to avoid bloodshed. Liam’s started to go a bit red in the face, and Zayn is still in his bed and thus has the higher ground. “I suppose so?”

“You suppose so?” Louis doesn’t sound very pleased at the answer. “What do you mean you suppose so--”

“What do you mean that isn’t the answer?” comes Stan’s voice, amplified for some godforsaken reason. “Do you know who I am?”

The knocker on the door to the Ravenclaw Tower must say something snarky in return, because Stan immediately follows that up with, “Never mind who you think _I_ am--Harry Styles is behind this door, and I must see him.”

There’s another pause, and then Stan is sputtering, horrified. “How _dare_ you!” he crows. “Have you _seen_ Harry Styles?”

And, like, obviously Harry can’t hear the knocker, but he wagers it says something to the effect of ‘no, actually, seeing as I’m a bronze knocker and I don’t have eyes, Mr. Lucas,’ because Stan continues, “So you _do_ know who I am!” at the top of his lungs.

Johnny and the rest of Harry’s dorm groans, a few of them casting _Muffliato_.

Zayn crosses his arms where he’s still sprawled on the bed. “ _I_ knew the answer,” he says, smugly, sticking his tongue out at Louis when Louis starts grumbling under his breath about how he’d have figured it out soon or later. “You like that, right?” he adds, turning to Harry, and looking almost worried. “Intelligence, I mean?”

Louis stops mumbling about the password and starts very loudly proclaiming that obviously Harry likes intelligence, at which point Liam manages to dislodge him and weighs in on the subject.

“Harry?” says Taylor, voice tight. “Are you going to fix this?”

Harry glances over at her, noting that she is still dripping with paint, and then rolls under his bed. He is going to _murder_ Nick.

\--

Harry’s day only gets worse by the time he manages to convince the Slytherins that what he’d really like is for all of them to go back to their common room and get some sleep before breakfast, because they still have nearly two hours until the rest of the castle is expected to be roaming about, and it’s a bloody Saturday, so why would anyone be on time to breakfast anyway. Aside from Stan, who demands that Harry kiss him on the bloody cheek, (and then he has to kiss the lot of them because Louis starts pouting and Harry is fucking weak to Louis’ pout so he kisses him and Zayn realises that pouting will get him somewhere and it’s a bloody Saturday and the sun’s not yet up.) they all go rather quietly, albeit with slightly awful, lovelorn looks on their face and a considerable amount of attempted groping from people who Harry’s not spoken more than a word to.

By the time he realises that Louis isn’t following the rest of his housemates and has in fact curled into his bed and gone to sleep, Harry is far too exhausted to deal with it.

“Fucking--love potion--chocolates,” he tells Taylor, who’d doused herself in a cleaning charm and then grumbled about how she might as well get some Quidditch practice in early if she had to shower anyway and was still hovering at the top of the stairs. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” Harry finishes it up with, around a yawn.

“Right,” says Taylor. “I’m going to go have a word with Flitwick about the knocker.”

Harry yawns again. “It’s no good,” he says. “It’s Zayn’s face, see,” he says. “Like, not only does he usually manage the password, but he’s got cheekbones to cut glass and all. You can’t blame it.”

“Harry,” says Taylor, as if addressing a small child. “The knocker hasn’t got eyes.”

Harry digests that for a moment. “Right,” he says slowly. “Right, yes--that was Stan’s problem, yeah.” He yawns. “Look, it’s not the knocker’s fault Zayn Malik is essentially a Ravenclaw...rin,” he says. “Raver-in. Slytherclaw? Slytherclaw sounds better.”

Taylor has stopped looking at him like he woke her at five in the morning because most of Slytherin house was hoping to woo him with banners and Astronomy homework and breaking and entering. “Right,” she says again, with the hint of a smile around the corners of her mouth. “Just be glad that it was me and not Lou, ’cause I don’t know what she’d have done to your boyfriend if he got paint in _her_ hair.”

“Oh God,” says Harry, trying to picture that, and wincing. “Hang on--he’s not my boyfriend!”

“Uh huh,” says Taylor, not looking back over her shoulder. “You might want to tell _him_ that.”

“Chocolates!” Harry shouts, because despite wanting to murder Nick, he doesn’t actually want to get him expelled. “I mean--oh never mind.”

Taylor doesn’t hear him, already on her way towards her own dorm.

Harry sighs and heads for his bed. “Lou,” he says, sliding under the covers and trying to arrange himself so no parts of them are touching.

Will’s forgotten to close the curtains over by his bed and the sun is trickling in, casting everything around them in an almost glow.

Louis’ entirely on his stomach, face mashed into Harry’s pillow and breathing loudly through his mouth, but he still manages to look ruggedly handsome, with his fringe flying every-which-way and his lashes fluttering against his cheekbones. Harry’s always said that eyelashes are his favourite feature on the human face, usually while very drunk and to a very put upon but ultimately supportive Niall, but Louis’ take the cake. They’re long and just a hint lighter than the rest of his hair, and nearly glowing in the early morning light.

After a moment, Louis opens one eye and smiles at him like they’re more than friends, before rolling over with surprising speed and strength until he’s got Harry very firmly spooned into his arms.

Harry swallows and tries very hard to remember how to breathe. Louis smells good, fruity and like soap and the Quidditch pitch, and Harry really should not be burying his face in his hair but it’s right there and Harry’s only human. Three seconds can’t hurt--the most that happens is Louis gets un-love-potioned and refuses to speak to Harry for the rest of his life because someone he thought was his platonic best mate went around sniffing him, but at least Harry will have the memory of how fabulous Louis Tomlinson’s hair smells when he’s dying alone with seventeen cats in the country. Niall will probably be famous when he gets around to picking a career; Niall can be Harry’s sugar daddy.

It maybe takes Harry a full minute to remove his nose from behind Louis’ ear, but by the time that happens, Louis’ sound asleep and wormed around Harry like an adorable and lovesick octopus, and Harry’s sleepy brain is already dredging up the memories of his Giant Squid nightmare. As restricting, lovelorn bedmates go, Louis is considerably drier, better smelling, and probably not going to swallow Harry. Not in a bad way, at least. Harry’s never opposed to a good blowjob. Giving, or receiving--he’s not picky.

“Lou, can I give you a blowjob?” says Harry, because Harry’s higher faculties have officially switched off, it seems.

Louis makes a humming noise, apparently not quite asleep, and fumbles around on the bed till he finds Harry left ear. He pats it a few times, before settling his fingers into Harry’s curls and tugging a little, soothing the little sparks of pain with a few more pets of his hand. “Mmmm,” he says. “I’d love for you to just wait.”

Which isn’t exactly a negative, so Harry is entirely justified in the little punch to the air he does with his free hand.

“Hazza?” says Louis, sounding amused. His eyes are still shut.

“Yes?” Harry schools his features into a look of innocence despite himself.

“Did you just punch the air?”

“...No,” says Harry, not sounding convincing at all.

Louis makes a humming noise again, the vibrations of his chest unfairly soothing and not at all okay for Harry’s general well being.

 _Love potion_ , he reminds himself, emphatically. _Love potion_.

“Liar,” says Louis, but he doesn’t sound all that bothered, or likely to pursue it. He’ll probably forget about it in the morning.

Harry breathes a sigh of relief and starts to relax against the bed.

“Do you like my shampoo?” asks Louis, before he can fully do so.

Harry’s muscles lock back up preemptively. “What?” he manages, hoarse.

“You were sniffing my hair, weren’t you?” says Louis, still sounding amused.

“...No,” Harry says again, but at this point he’s not really kidding himself, even.

Louis chuckles again, amused. “Liar,” he repeats, and then, because Harry has absolutely no luck, he falls back to sleep.

Harry ends up spending the next hour waiting for it to be early enough to go bother Niall at breakfast before his date, trying not to get an erection, and thinking of increasingly horrible ways to end Nick Grimshaw.

For one, feeding him to the Giant Squid.

\--

Breakfast goes about as well as you’d expect, given that most of Slytherin house currently wants into Harry’s pants. They seem to have taken his instructions from the morning into account, however, seeing as they’re all fully clothed with their ties done up proper. They’re also completely silent, glaring around at each other like angry dogs. Or, snakes, Harry supposes.

Louis had latched onto his hand as soon as they’d woken up and hasn’t let go since, a fact which had most of Ravenclaw raising their eyebrows at him and a few of the sixth years clapping him on the back about. There’d also been some whistles, which had made Harry seriously consider the pros and cons of cursing classmates. Through it all, Louis hadn’t done so much as smile gently down at Harry, who’d been too bothered by how _un_ bothered the older lad was to do anything other than dress and leave. When he and Louis push into the Great Hall, most of Slytherin house turns with terrifying accuracy and glares at them.

Louis glares right back, tightens his grip on Harry’s hand, and tugs him off towards their usual table.

Of course their usual table is the Hufflepuff table, which is right across from the Gryffindor table, and Liam is sat next to Niall with a bowl of cereal in front of him that he’s not touched. When they get closer, somehow not bursting into flames due to the Slytherins’ terrifying stares, Harry realises that Liam is waxing poetic about Harry himself, while a slightly nauseated and confused Niall looks on with horror, nabbing pieces off of Liam’s plate and popping them into his mouth like it’s popcorn.

Louis tightens his grip even more on Harry’s hand and growls, “Payne,” in a truly menacing fashion.

Liam’s head whirls around and he fixes an equally menacing look on Louis. “Tomlinson,” he says back.

Niall stuffs an entire English muffin into his mouth. “Have we gone back in time?” he says around it, swallowing in a way that looks painful. “Are we back in first year when Tommo and Payno hated each other?” He pauses, probably waiting for one of the two to tell him they never actually hated each other, just what they stood for, but it doesn’t come. Louis and Liam continue to glare at each other in silence.

“Erm, Nialler?” says Harry, trying to pry his hand free of Louis’. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

He gets free of Louis’ grip with more force than expected, tripping forward a few steps and landing against Liam’s chest. It’s a nice chest. If only Harry had fallen into Liam’s chest two years prior instead of pissing on Louis.

“Harry!” says Liam, sounding pleased to see him but also very concerned. “Are you alright?”

“Fine, thanks,” Harry tells Liam’s chest. “Nialler?”

He’s surprised Louis hasn’t done anything drastic like try to hex Liam into next week, but Harry will take it.

He slaps a thumbs up in what he hopes is the direction of Liam’s eyes and steps backwards, dragging a hand up to muss through and fix his fringe. And then stops, because the reason that Louis isn’t attempting to murder Liam with his eyes is because he’s attempting to murder Eleanor with his eyes.

Harry hadn’t noticed her when they came over, but she’s sitting across from Niall, wearing quite a bit of make-up for a Saturday. Not that Harry would like to judge--he quite likes the shade of her nail polish--but the way she visibly perks up when Harry looks at her is worrying.

So is the way she had kissed him on the cheek yesterday. And then wished him Happy Valentine’s Day.

“Shit,” says Harry, backtracking furiously and reaching blindly for Niall. “Shit, Niall, it’s Valentine’s Day.”

“Yeah.” Niall doesn’t sound like he understands. “That’s why Grimshaw gave you the chocolates.”

“Yes!” Harry grabs hold of Niall’s collar in excitement, staring deeply into his eyes. “Yes, Niall, the chocolates.”

He can see the moment it dawns on Niall, the confusion bleeding into horrified realisation, only he doesn’t get to do more than that, because Louis and Liam both are grabbing him by the arms and trying to pull him off.

“Get your own Hazza, Horan,” says Louis. He still hasn’t called Harry anything but the nickname, and Harry still hasn’t managed to not have butterflies over it.

“Yeah,” agrees Liam, and then, “I mean--you too.”

Harry very quietly steps away from the two of them before it can become a tug-of-war match, smiling brightly and saying, “Do the two of you mind getting me breakfast and saving me a spot?” he says, gesturing towards the Ravenclaw table. “I’ve got to talk to Niall for a second.”

Louis and Liam look visibly torn, because while they’d love to do anything Harry’d ask at the moment, neither of them look pleased at the prospect of leaving Harry alone with Niall.

There’s a beat.

“I’m straight,” says Niall, very loudly, and drawing the attention of the rest of the Great Hall. “By the way. And not at all interested in H here.” He goes to put an arm around Harry and then seems to think better of it, smiling at the two of them instead. “Not that there’s anything wrong with Harry, mind you,” he continues, “’cause like, if I wasn’t straight, which I am, Haz’s curls might be enough to give me pause. They actually did give me pause when we first met, to be honest--”

Harry steps on his foot, hard. “Not helping,” he says out the side of his mouth, still trying to smile at Louis and Liam.

“I panicked,” Niall says back, also out the side of his mouth and also smiling.

Louis and Liam keep looking between the two of them with narrowed eyes.

Niall and Harry keep smiling back at them.

Finally, one of the older Hufflepuffs breaks the silence. “So does this mean my chances with you are zero, Horan?” he says. “Because I’m heartbroken--where am I going to find another Irish bloke named Niall to marry?”

Niall throws his head back and laughs. “Oh piss off, Bressie,” he calls back. “You’re not good enough for all this.”

Louis and Liam take in this exchange with more worrying silence.

“Definitely not interested,” Niall reiterates, in case anyone had missed it. “Completely and totally not interested in fucking H’s brains out.”

Harry reckons the only safe response to this is to nod sagely at Louis and Liam, while Niall, bless him, continues to ramble on. Harry’s just starting to consider leaving him to fend for himself, when he’s saved by Headmistress McGonagall clearing her throat behind them.

“While I’m glad that you feel the need to clarify your intentions towards Mr. Styles, Mr. Horan,” she says, in her usual frosty, no nonsense tone, “I, and the rest of the school, would appreciate if you did so not in the middle of the Great Hall.”

Niall whips around to face her, one hand grabbing Harry’s and the other coming up to mess with the back of his hair. “Headmistress!” he says cheerfully. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Headmistress McGonagall continues to look frosty and unimpressed.

“Sorry, Headmistress,” Harry says, on Niall’s behalf, tugging him away from Louis and Liam and towards the doors. “Come on, Ni.”

Niall goes, still smiling pleasantly at their head of school.

\--

“So it worked,” says Niall, as soon as they’ve cleared the Great Hall and are awkwardly loitering outside it.

Harry glances around, nervous, because he hadn’t seen Stan sitting with the other Slytherins, and he is Louis’ best friend from home. And in love with Harry. Like the rest of their friends. And some other people in Slytherin. Harry’s starting to think the amount of potion consumed affects how much love you feel, since two or three of the Slytherin first years had smiled at him on their way down to the Great Hall. He’d nearly had to pull Louis’ arm out of its socket to avoid a scene after that.

Niall is looking at him, expectant. “Well?” he says.

“Yeah,” Harry says, glancing around a bit more, and finally dragging Niall over and into the broom closet and closing the door behind him. They’ve probably got a few minutes before Nick and Alexa wander down for breakfast--Harry’s planning on making the most of it.

“You’re lucky that doesn’t lock,” says Niall, sounding amused. “Also, this is not helping your case for us not hooking up.”

Harry sighs and pulls his wand out to cast _Lumos_ , which lights up Niall’s face with a milky glow. “Listen, I know you want to talk all about the whole love potion thing,” he says, powering through even as Niall starts to interrupt him. “But, what I really need you to do is hold Nick’s arms for me.”

That seems to throw Niall for a loop. “What?” is all he has time to say, before Harry is timing the sounds of Nick’s footsteps with the sounds of Nick loudly discussing Defense Against the Dark Arts homework and throwing open the door to the broom closet, darting out, grabbing him by the shoulders, and hauling him back inside.

There’s a pause.

Niall very dutifully reaches out to hold Nick’s arms, which is a bit awkward seeing as they’re in quite small quarters.

“Oi!” says Alexa. “Styles! You planning on giving us Grimmy back anytime soon?”

Harry waits for a moment before she seems to sigh and walk off.

“Harold,” Nick says finally, when it becomes clear that none of his friends have gone and waited for him. “Can I just say this is not what I was expecting from you.”

Niall goes to say something, but Nick doesn’t let him.

“Also,” he says, shaking off Niall’s hands. “I’ve done a lot of regrettable things in my life, but going back into the closet is not one of them--”

“Grimshaw,” interrupts Niall, loudly. “Stop talking.”

Nick’s mouth snaps shut and he goes on to mime spelling away his ability to speak before looking at the two of them beseechingly.

“The chocolates worked,” Harry says, deciding to go straight to the point. “Everyone who ate them is in love with me.”

Nick pauses a moment. “Really?” he says. “Brilliant--that’s-- _brilliant_ \--I knew I hadn’t buggered it up too badly--”

“Grimshaw,” Niall says again. “Not helping.”

Harry steps on what he thinks is Nick’s foot for good measure.

“Ow-- _Harry_!” says Niall.

“Oops.” Harry steps on what is actually Nick’s food for good measure.

Nick winces. “Sorry?” he tries.

Harry steps harder.

“Ow--Harold--right, no, it’s not _that_ bad--”

“Nick,” says Harry, enunciating very clearly. “I woke up this morning and Zayn Malik was in my bed.”

There’s a beat.

“Hang on, what?” says Niall, the first of them to speak. “Zayn was where, now?”

“Fully dressed, mind you,” Harry continues, filing away Niall’s tone of voice for later inspection. “But, like, in my bed. Having done my Astronomy homework. Telling me he liked my eyes.”

Nick starts nodding. “That is the first phase of it,” he says, still sounding pleased. “Blind infatuation mixed with slightly less common sense--you’re lucky he had his clothes on--ow!” Nick breaks off. “What was that for?”

Harry blinks at him, confused. “It wasn’t me,” he says.

“Sorry,” says Niall, not sounding sorry at all. “Can’t really see.”

“Right.” Nick reaches down to rub at his shin, unconvinced. “But, yeah, um. I think it’ll wear off?”

The broom closet goes silent.

“What?” says Harry.

“You _think_?” says Niall.

“I didn’t think you’d actually give them to Tomlinson!” says Nick.

There’s another pause.

“I’ve got his arms,” says Niall, like the true friend he is, and Nick has only a second for that to sink in before Harry is reaching for his wand.

He doesn’t hex Nick, only threatens to do so and then recites some made up Muggle nonsense while Niall cackles silently, and then opens the door to the broom closet.

“Before you say anything,” says Harry, as they make their way towards the entrance to the Great Hall. “Need I remind you that love potions are very illegal.”

Nick is very wisely silent the whole way to the Ravenclaw table, where they are immediately joined by Louis and Liam and now Zayn, carrying all of Harry’s favourite foods plus some random additions.

Louis has somehow gotten a hold of some homemade mash, Liam looks to be sporting a black eye, and all of Harry’s housemates look like they’re in pain. It becomes clear why when they get close enough to hear that the three of them appear to be having a very intelligent conversation about the exact shade of Harry’s eyes, with Zayn winning due to his superior artistic talent and ability to name shades of green. The three of them brighten when Harry arrives, but don’t stop their conversation.

Nick is glancing between the three of them with morbid curiosity. “Have they been like this for long?” he says, with far too much glee for the situation.

Harry makes a note to stomp on his foot a few more times.

“Oh yeah,” says Niall, as they all sit down. “Did I mention that before you got here Liam was reciting poetry about you?”

Harry opens and closes his mouth a few times. “No,” he says finally. “You hadn’t.”

“Ah.” Niall reaches for an empty glass and pours himself some orange juice. “Well, it was awful,” he says. “And he kept going on about how it was practice.”

“Practice,” Harry repeats. “For what?”

Niall swallows. “Dunno.” He shrugs.

“That makes sense,” interjects Nick, sitting down gingerly next to Harry and eyeing Louis warily. “It’s only supposed to get worse, from here on.”

 “Worse,” Harry repeats, taking a bite out of the potatoes. “Louis slept in my bed last night,” he says, and takes quite a bit of pleasure in the way Nick chokes on his own bit of food.

“Styles,” his friend rasps out. “Warning, beforehand.”

Harry pats him on the back with more force than is necessary. “Careful,” he says cheerfully. “I wouldn’t want you to choke.”

And Harry was joking, and maybe being a bit vindictive, but Liam gets to his feet anyway and proclaims that he learned the Heimlich Maneuver this summer.

Harry just barely manages to convince him _not_ to break Nick’s ribs.

“So, antidote,” says Nick, when that’s over.

“Antidote,” Harry agrees, already exhausted.

\--

It takes Nick a full week to make anything of a breakthrough on the potion front. Over the course of that week, Harry’s convinced Hannah and Stan not to hex anyone who looked at Harry with a slightly evil eye, essentially went on a date with Louis in Hogsmeade, nearly got snogged by a very handsy and drunk Zayn Malik (courtesy of a less than helpful Niall Horan), and has sat through three horrific Valentine’s Day howlers. The howlers were a feat of their own, mostly because Liam had felt the need to one up Stan’s awful poetry with an attempt at singing Celestina Warbeck’s greatest hits. He’d been surprisingly in tune the whole way through, finishing it up by turning to Harry and saying, dreamily, ‘I love her’ while Nick slowly beat his head against the Slytherin table. Needless to say, by the time Nick stumbles up to Harry with an antidote, Harry is about ready to try anything.

“Harry, hi,” says Nick, having caught Harry in the middle of yet another lecture as to why it is inappropriate to go around threatening anyone who doesn’t greet Harry with a smile. He’s looking a little ragged around the edges, his quiff falling sadly to the right and large bags under his eyes. Harry would almost feel bad, but given that it’s the third time he’s had to intervene before Stan terrified a batch of Ravenclaw first years, the most he can manage is an exhausted, but put-upon eyebrow raise.

“Yes, Nick?” he says, because if nothing else, his mum taught him to be polite.

“So I don’t really know what it’ll do to them exactly,” Nick rushes to say, pulling out a small vial from the pockets of his robes, “but I basically copied your default love potion antidote with some changes to account for your hair and the whole, evolving nature of the original potion, and obviously your curls have a life of their own--”

“Harry is very curly, did you know?” says Stan, turning away from the cowering first years. “I was talking to Lou the other day, and he was saying that was his favourite thing about him.” He makes a face. “His curls or his smell, that is,” he amends. “I don’t know what Harry smells like--do you, Grimshaw?”

Nick opens and closes his mouth a few times in way that makes him resemble a very ugly, very tired, very horrifically impressed fish.

“Erm no, Lucas, I don’t,” says Nick, eventually. “That’s--how long’s it been?”

“A week,” Harry says glumly, taking the vial from Nick’s outstretched hands and regarding the liquid inside. It doesn’t look particularly pleasant swirling around inside the glass, as it’s an almost olive sort of green colour, glowing around the edges, but it’s all Harry’s got at the moment, so he uncaps it, ignores Nick’s protests, and hands it to Stan.

He drinks it without missing a beat, pleased that Harry has seen fit to gift him with anything, and for a moment, none of them move.

“So that was for all of them,” says Nick eventually, awkwardly. “But I don’t think it could be _too_ awful--maybe he’ll just hate you--”

“Anything would be better than this,” interrupts Harry. “Anything.”

Stan blinks around at the two of them, glances down at the now empty vial, back up at Harry, at the vial once more, and pauses. And then he bursts into tears.

“Merlin’s beard.” Nick is the first to do something, Harry himself being too overcome with exhaustion and general resignation towards his fate as Ravenclaw’s most popular fifth year. “Lucas--Stan--are you alright.”

“I’m fine!” Stan lifts a hand to wave it in the air. “I’m just--I’m so happy, you know?” He’s not the most attractive crier, not that Harry thinks crying is pretty full stop, be it that people don’t generally cry for reasons beyond pain and sadness and occasionally love potion antidotes made by idiotic Slytherin seventh years--but he’s also causing a bit of a scene.

The first years from before are looking rather more green in the face, probably because only three minutes before, Stan had been threatening to do all their Charms homework for the rest of their time at Hogwarts. (At the least, Harry could say that his lectures weren’t going in one ear and out the next, although he’s not sure Professor Flitwick hasn’t caught onto them, seeing as most of the affected Slytherins have started turning in homework of a distinctly higher caliber, not to mention the way that the younger years have started actually doing the same in the hopes that Stanley Lucas and Louis Tomlinson won’t hex them. But beggars can’t be choosers.)

“Happy,” repeats Nick, levelling Stan a rather dubious look.

“Yes!” Stan doesn’t sound any less hysterical--in fact, Harry’s starting to get worried. “It’s just--Harry _looked_ at me.”

Harry continues to look at Stan, horror apparent on his face, before he realises that’s probably not helping matters, since Stan has given up all pretenses and has pulled out an actual handkerchief and is blowing his nose quite loudly. In the midst of all this, Niall has arrived with an amused looking Barbara and a lovesick Louis, Liam, and Zayn in tow, the latter of which converge around Harry with sparkling eyes.

“Why is Stan crying--did Hazza turn you down?” says Louis, sounding absolutely gleeful at the prospect of that. “I told you he wouldn’t want to date you.”

Stan stops crying long enough to glare at him, eyes red and watery. “I’ll have you know that Harry gave me _this_ this morning, so, like, obviously he likes me better--”

Harry grabs the near empty vial with all the reflexes that Michelle’s beaten into him during Quidditch practice. “And now I’m taking it back,” he says quickly, pocketing it and holding onto it before Louis can make a grab for it. “Sorry.”

Stan continues to stare smugly at Louis, before he belches loudly. And then, as quickly as the crying had started, it ends, Stan blinking and looking incredibly confused. “Harry?” he says, after a moment. “Tommo--what are we--”

Harry turns to Nick, ecstatic, but he hasn’t so much as _thought_ that they’re in the clear, when Stan spots the first years from before.

“Oi,” he says loudly. “What are _you_ looking at? Do you know who this is?” He advances towards them menacingly. “It’s _Harry Styles_ , you nitwits.”

Nick makes a broken noise and takes the vial back from Harry. “Right,” he says. “Give me a day. Or, like, two, maybe.” He looks determined, but not all that convinced, and Harry wants to tear out his hair. What if it’s permanent?, says his treacherous brain. What if he never gets his friends back?

It’s suddenly very claustrophobic in the corridor. Everything is blurry around the edges. Harry can’t remember how to breathe.

“Harry?” says Louis, appearing in Harry’s line of sight. He waves one hand around in front of Harry’s eyes, snapping his fingers. “Harry, are you alright?”

It’s the first time he’s called him Harry in days, and Harry snaps back into himself, gasping for breath in time to notice that none of his other suitors have noticed his mild breakdown. Only Louis is standing in front of him, looking very concerned. Harry vaguely remembers having a long talk with Louis about family and what they wanted to do in life, wherein Harry had admitted to having had panic attacks as a child. He can’t believe Louis remembered. By all means Louis _shouldn’t_ remember--shouldn’t be able to do more than try to get Harry to date him.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Harry gasps out, giving his head a quick shake. “Sorry.”

Louis is still looking at him with concern, eyebrows furrowed and mouth turned down at the edges, but the lucidity in his eyes is very quickly fading. “Good,” he says, and then frowns, uncertain. “Hazza?”

“Yeah?”

Louis looks down at where their hands are still linked together, and grins. “You’re holding my hand,” he says giddily, like Harry’s just given him world peace, or something.

And Harry can only laugh helplessly and try not to cry.

That night, when Louis slips into his bed and cuddles around him, as usual, Harry does end up crying, but quietly, and very pointedly pretending to be asleep. He can’t really remember in the morning if he dreamed it, but he swears that Louis ends up humming him to sleep.

\--

That Saturday is the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff Quidditch match, and Harry is not looking forward to it. Liam’s taken to wearing Harry’s scarf proudly, rambling on about how he’s Harry’s champion and how he’s going to win the match for Harry and a whole slew of other horrible and embarrassing things that makes Harry want to hide his face and never emerge.

“Niall,” he hisses over breakfast, as Liam glares over at Louis and Zayn, who each have got one of Harry’s mittens on and are looking quite smug about it. He supposes he’s lucky that Nick’s latest antidote had been enough to have Stan, Hannah, and the rest of the affected Slytherins avoiding him for the unforeseeable future, because he doesn’t think he’s got enough winter clothing to spread around without catching someone’s attention. Professor Slughorn has taken to casting Harry shifty looks and keeps nearly approaching him in the halls; Harry really does _not_ want to risk it.

Louis, Liam, and Zayn, sadly, had consumed far too much chocolate for Nick’s antidote to have any effect, and seeing as Louis’ been sleeping in Harry’s bed since day one (a fact Harry’s roommates and his right hand are very sorry about), it’s looking like they’ve been hit with the brunt of the spell. When he’d explained, Nick had started going on about pre-existing attachments and exposure to Harry’s hair, at which point Harry had decided to let Zayn assume Nick was attempting to woo him and hadn’t stepped in till Nick was blue in the face.

“Mmm?” Niall looks from where he’s been studiously reviewing the notes Perrie had given him last week.

“This is all your fault.”

Niall raises an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure it’s Grimmy’s fault, mate,” he says, but he’s definitely laughing.

“No--you--” Harry breaks off with an angry sigh. “You’re the one who told me _not_ to take the scarf back.”

As he says that Liam reaches up and, like, inhales the fabric, before sighing dramatically and turning towards Perrie and starting a conversation about Harry’s ears.

Louis jumps right in, the hand covered in the mitten waving about like a miniature Ravenclaw flag. “Harry’s ears are quirky,” he tells Perrie, over Liam’s latest attempts at godawful poetry. “Also his curls--I like his curls, did you know?”

Harry turns back to Niall with a pained look on his face.

“Look, Haz.” Niall sets down his playbook. “It’s for your own good.”

Harry shoots him a doubtful look.

Niall raises an eyebrow back at him, before turning to face Liam. “Hey, Payno?” he says. “Haz said he wants his scarf back.”

Liam looks absolutely crestfallen, puppy-dog-eyes out in full force, and his lip honest-to-God wobbles when he turns to face Harry.

“What?” He sounds like his world is ending.

“Yeah.” Niall seems unconcerned by this. “Said he doesn’t want you to be his champion.”

“Ha,” says Louis, and Zayn elbows him in the side, which is interesting, because by all means Zayn should be as pleased as Louis is. Thinking back on it, Harry’s starting to think the potion might just actually be wearing off. For Zayn, at least.

“Oh.” Liam looks down at his plate of breakfast, suddenly not at all interested in eating. He starts pushing his potatoes around in circles.

“Kidding,” Niall finishes. “I’m joking, Liam, honestly.”

Liam lights right back up. “Oh,” he says again, but happily this time. “You’re such a joker, Nialler.”

Niall gives a mini bow.

“Niall’s very funny,” Liam tells Perrie seriously. “But Harry’s funnier--did you know Harry tells knock-knock jokes?”

“I know more Harry jokes than you do,” interrupts Louis, mitten flag back in the air.

Niall gives Harry a pointed smile. “See,” he says. “Payno’s like a kicked dog--I can’t beat his arse at Quidditch when looks like that--it’s bloody animal cruelty. You can’t take the scarf back till _after_ the match.” He grins. “Although, maybe not--wouldn’t want to ruin his night even more.”

Harry stares at him for a moment. “I dunno, Nialler,” he says tartly. “Liam’s _my_ champion.” He ignores the way Louis looks suddenly hurt at that. “I’m pretty sure Gryffindor is going to beat _your_ arse.”

Gryffindor does manages a win, barely, when Niall catches the Snitch an hour and a half into the match, which is mostly because Liam keeps getting tangled up in Harry’s scarf and lets in quite a few goals.

Niall just takes in the fairly murderous look on Danielle’s face and doesn’t say ‘I told you so.’

\--

Several failed antidotes later and Harry has essentially given up on getting his friends back. Louis has continued to pout whenever he’s barred entrance to Harry’s bed, Liam’s howlers continue to be horrific and filled with decent singing, and Zayn is definitely miraculously recovered by force of will.

Harry only finds out about that last one because he comes across Niall and him ensconced in the library studying one afternoon, and Zayn doesn’t so much as bat an eyelash when Harry trips over a stack of books and nearly brains himself on their table.

“You alright there, Harry?” he says dryly, as Harry rubs at his forehead and pours himself into the empty chair across from Niall.

“I’m fine,” Harry tells him, heaving a long sigh. “Don’t know how much longer I’ve got, though.”

Last he’d seen Louis and Liam, the two of them were gathered around the Hufflepuff table making bouquets with Perrie and all her friends helping them. Jade, at least, had had enough house decency to warn Harry away from lunch in favour of fleeing to the library. Spell aside, Louis still looks a little cross at the prospect of going into the library, and has a tendency to try to snog Harry in the stacks.

“Ah.” Zayn still hasn’t look up from his book. “I should probably apologise, actually,” he adds. “For the whole sneaking into your bed, thing.”

Harry chokes on air.

Niall reaches around to thump him on the back a few times.

“Thanks,” Harry tells him. “Apology accepted.”

Zayn’s lips twitch and he finally looks up. “Do you wanna hear all the embarrassing things Tommo said about you?”

Harry does, actually, is the thing, but he doesn’t think that’d be very fair. He already has enough trouble convincing Louis to keep his clothes on every damn morning that they wake up in bed together--he doesn’t want to add feelings into the mix.

“From before the potion, I mean,” adds Zayn, which, like, doesn’t make any sense, and Harry’s just about to say something to him when Nick bursts around a corner, out of breath.

His hair is sticking every-which-way, he’s dressed from head to foot in Muggle clothing, has got dark smudges under his eyes, but in his hand he’s got another glass vial.

Harry heaves a long sigh and rests his hands in his arms. “That’s nice, Nick,” he says, ignoring and interrupting whatever his friend means to tell him. “I’m going to nap, now.”

Nick sort of gapes at him, sputtering, before stomping off muttering under his breath.

Harry sighs and turns to stare morosely at Niall.

“Niall?” he says.

Niall hums around his quill.

“Why didn’t you smack me when I came and told you about how I peed on Louis Tomlinson?” he says.

Zayn makes a choking noise into his own book.

“Sorry,” Harry says mildly, as Niall thumps Zayn on the back a few times.

“I did smack you, Harry,” says Niall. “But you have to remember you were tiny and curly and twelve years old.”

Harry heaves a long sigh. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s just--Louis keeps climbing into bed with me--”

Just when it looks like Zayn has finally recovered, he starts sputtering again.

Niall just keeps thumping and staring back at Harry. “Right,” he says.

“It’s not really how I pictured it, is all,” says Harry, pressing his cheek into his sleeve. “And I’m tired.”

Niall looks genuinely apologetic. “Sorry, H,” he says. “Do you still want me to hold Nick’s arms down?”

Harry laughs into his arms. “I love you, Nialler,” he says, and if his voice takes on a bit of an hysterical edge, only Niall and Zayn have to know.

“Two days ago, I’d probably have attempted to murder you,” Zayn says conversationally, setting his book down on the table and dog-earing his page.

Harry smiles. “You couldn’t murder Niall,” he says, around a yawn. “Have you seen this face.” He reaches around to take hold of Niall’s cheeks, pinching them a bit, before tugging his face around to stare at Zayn.

Zayn watches the two of them with barely concealed amusement. “To be fair, two days ago everything was Harry coloured.”

Harry blinks.

“Like.” Zayn pauses, considering. “There was this haze around all rational thought that was just chanting your name. Or, like, singing it, I suppose.” He grins. “Sounded a bit like Tommo, actually.”

Harry grins back. “You sure it didn’t sound like Liam?” he says. “If Nick ends up in Azkaban for this, I’ll be sure to send him the howlers--Liam can actually carry a tune.”

Zayn shakes his head. “I know, mate,” he says. “It pissed Louis right off--you should have seen him after the first one. Proper pissed. You’re lucky he never got around to sending you _his_ howlers.”

Harry tilts his head to one side. “Louis serenaded me?” he asks, and then scowls. “I mean--”

Niall snorts. “Harry,” he interrupts. “For the last time. The potion might get rid of his inhibitions, but I can guarantee the feelings aren’t manufactured. Tommo’s gone for you.”

Harry looks between him and Zayn.

“Yeah, bro,” says Zayn. “I mean, I’ve always thought you were an okay bloke, but even I wasn’t going around holding your hand or trying to sleep with you.”

“You tricked me onto a ledge on the Astronomy tower and wouldn’t let me come down till I snogged you,” Harry says flatly, unamused.

Zayn raises both his hands. “Alright, but that was mostly Niall’s fault,” he points out. “Like, he put the idea in my mind. Half the crazy shit Louis had us do was all him.”

Harry just rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay,” he says.

\--

The first thing Harry thinks upon waking is that it’s much too loud for how early it is. The sun is just peeking through the curtains over by the tower window and creeping around the hangings of his bed. He’s warm, he’s cozy, and he would very much like Louis to stop struggling in his grip and let him sleep.

“Lou,” he groans out. “Stop moving.”

Louis freezes, whole body going stiff, and Harry waits a few seconds before blinking one eye open.

Louis is staring at his face with something close to horror in his eyes, entire body stiff. “ _Harry_?” he hisses. “This is your bed.”

Harry blinks. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “How observant of you.”

Louis should punch him in the arm for that, but he doesn’t. His eyes seem to get even bigger. “ _Harry_ ,” he hisses again. “Why am _I_ in your bed?”

Harry stifles a yawn. “Well, you did fall asleep here,” he says, waving a hand. When he drops it back down onto the bed he meets bare skin, and, oh yeah, Louis had refused to keep his shirt on last night. Ever since dinner he had been ridiculously twitchy, thrumming with some sort of odd energy. Liam had been equally unsettled when Harry had let Niall and Zayn drag him off towards Gryffindor Tower the night before.

So Louis is shirtless. And Harry is shirtless. And, yes, Harry is hard.

He wishes this was a first.

“I did what?” Louis’ voice is terribly high. “Oh God--I did,” he continues, in a rush. “Oh God, my head--Merlin--what did I do last....night.” He trails off at the end, going even more rigid against Harry.

Harry decides he should probably wake up properly for this, yawning and stretching and rolling so he’s not halfway on top of Louis.

“Harry?” Louis sounds nearly hysterical. “Please tell me I haven’t spent the last week under a love spell.”

Harry opens and closes his mouth a few times. “Um,” he says, mind racing. He can’t remember Nick doing anything to fix them last night, aside from rushing into the library with his hair everywhere. In fact, Nick had disappeared during dinner the night before, which had been annoying, since Harry had ended up sitting at Slytherin table because Zayn was an arsehole who seemed to take pleasure in how uncomfortable most of his house was.

“Oh God,” says Louis again. “Oh Merlin--this isn’t happening.” And then he rolls over and buries his face in Harry’s pillow. After a while, he makes a pained, high-pitched, wailing noise.

Harry eyes him worriedly. “Erm, Louis?” he says finally. “Are you alright?”

“No.” Louis’ voice sounds far away. “No, I’m just--I don’t suppose we can pretend last week never happened?”

Oh. That. That wasn’t really what Harry had thought he’d say, since, like, the last week was pretty awful, but it hadn’t been _that_ bad, really, Harry’d thought. He’d managed to keep Louis from doing anything as embarrassing as Liam’s Celestina Warbeck impersonation or Stan’s ongoing arguments with the Ravenclaw knocker. The most Louis’d done was ramble about Harry’s curls and Harry’s ears.

“Was it that bad?” he says softly, idiotically. “Being in love with me, I mean.”

Louis stops trying to smother himself with Harry’s pillow. “What?” he says.

Harry swallows, but repeats the question. “I mean, illegal, terribleness of Nick’s actions aside.”

“Grimshaw,” Louis hisses, lifting his head and scrambling upright. “That’s right it’s _his_ fault--” He breaks off, the brightness in his eyes dimming when he sees Harry’s face. “Oh, Haz.”

Harry flops back down on the bed, hiding his face in the pillow. “I’m sorry,” he tells the pillow, sadly. “I’m being a tit.”

Louis makes a clucking noise in the back of his throat, before Harry feels the bed shift and there are fingers combing through his hair. Louis’ fingers. Louis. Louis is touching him, and petting him, and Harry feels quite like a cat, near purring from the attention.

“Hazza,” Louis repeats. “You’re not being a tit.”

“A dick, then,” Harry amends, refusing to lift his head off the pillow. “You’ve just spent a week with your free will taken from you, and I’m over here moaning about my feelings.”

“Feelings,” Louis repeats, a bit blandly.

Harry turns so he can glance at him, which does nothing to help him figure out what his tone means. “Feelings,” he agrees. “I’m, well.” He looks away from Louis and fixes his eyes somewhere beyond his left shoulder. “I’ve sort of been arse over tits in love with you since second year, so...” He shrugs. “But I mean, that’s no reason not to be sympathetic, as your, like. Mate.” That last word sounds a bit bitter on his tongue. Harry tries not to think too hard about that.

“Mate,” Louis repeats, still toneless.

“Mate,” Harry echoes. “Anyway, I’m sorry, Lou.”

Louis keeps staring at him for a long moment, before he darts out a hand and punches Harry in the shoulder, hard.

Harry stares back at him, appalled, and rubbing at his aching shoulder. “Ow--Louis!” he exclaims. “What was that for?”

“That,” says Louis, rolling Harry onto his back and climbing on top of him, “was for being a right idiot!” He grabs Harry’s wrists and hauls them up above his head, and punches him again.

“Ow!” Harry repeats, gaping up at him. “What--?”

“And that,” Louis continues, settling better across his lap, “was for making me grateful to Nick bloody Grimshaw.”

Harry blinks, startled. “What?” he says again.

Louis’ eyes dart between Harry’s and somewhere around his mouth. Probably the bottom of his nose--Harry shouldn’t be too hopeful. “You couldn’t have told me this _before_ the love spell, Harold?” Louis says, sounding endeared despite himself, before he’s leaning down and kissing Harry.

And that’s, like. That’s not where Harry thought this was going either, but it’s bloody brilliant, is what it is. Louis kisses like he does most of anything, dramatically, excellently, and with just a hint of shyness that belies the fact he’s one of five children and older than most sixth years. He’s not afraid to get his hands in Harry’s curls, like Taylor was, when they got caught under the mistletoe their third year, or to use his tongue, like Harry’s first kiss under a tree back home. He’s also terribly good at kissing, licking into Harry’s mouth and grinding down with his hips just so.

Harry breaks apart gasping, startled, confused, _aroused_ , and chest heaving. “What?” he manages, like a broken record. “Has the spell not worn off, then?”

“Has the--Harry!” Louis crows, voice raspy around the edges. “This is not me acting under the effects of a bloody love spell.”

Harry blinks up at him, confused. “It isn’t?” he squeaks.

Louis shakes his head emphatically. “No--it’s--I--” He breaks off with a growl before dropping his head onto Harry’s chest. “I like you a lot, H,” he mumbles. “I’ve always liked you a lot. Since third year, even.”

Harry pauses. “What?” he says again.

“Well, okay, not _really_ third year,” Louis admits. “Cause I was proper pissed that night, and everything about you was all...poofy.”

“Poofy,” Harry repeats back, like a parrot.

Louis doesn’t lift his head. “Your hair,” he clarifies, waving a hand around in circles. “Was all poofy.”

“Curly,” Harry says slowly, amusement filtering in. “I think the word you’re looking for is curly--”

“You looked like a poodle, Styles,” Louis interrupts, lifting his head and glaring at him. “A tiny, baby poodle who weed on me and then vanished into the night like bloody Cinderella.” He shakes his head, nose rubbing against Harry’s bare chest. “And then it took me three bloody years to find you again.”

Harry risks a grin. “At least Cinderella didn’t wee on her prince,” he says. “That would have been awkward.”

Louis pokes him in the dimple. “Yeah,” he says. “And not at all appropriate for children, gosh, Haz, are you going to be like that with our children?”

Harry’d been planning a fabulous and witty comeback, but instead he nearly chokes on his own tongue. “Children?” he squeaks out.

Louis drops his head back onto Harry’s chest. “That one was definitely still the potion talking,” he says, sounding a bit panicked. “I haven’t thought about having your babies.”

Harry reaches up a hand to pat him awkwardly on the shoulder. He certainly hasn’t thought about having Louis’ babies. Hell, Harry doesn’t even think he wants children. Not now at least. Maybe in the future. “Okay,” he says, equally strangled.

“Yay.” Louis punches the air next to Harry’s head.

“But to be clear,” Harry says, wrapping his arm around the small of Louis’ back and meeting his eyes when the older boy lifts his head to look at him. “You like me not because of a ridiculous potion that had Liam singing Celestina Warbeck, yeah?”

Louis blinks at him a few times, before an earsplitting grin spreads across his face. “I’d forgotten he did that--that’s brilliant--Hazza, please tell me someone put that in a Pensieve somewhere, _please_.”

“Louis?” Harry says, tightening his grip around him.

Louis’ entire face softens. “Harry,” he says gently. “I really, really, _really_ like you. Even without the effects of illegal chocolate.”

And then he kisses him again, and Harry’s entire body feels like he’s floating miles above the castle.

\--

The first person they see upon entering the Great Hall with their hands clasped tightly together is Liam, sat next to Niall at the Ravenclaw table. When he sees Harry, he somehow manages to go even redder in the face, before leaping to his feet and beginning to apologise profusely. Harry gets the sense that Liam isn’t going to stop, so he lets go of Louis’ hand and goes to take their friend by the shoulder.

“Liam,” he says. “It’s alright.”

“It’s not alright,” Liam wails, sinking down back into his seat when Harry gently pushes him down. “I sang Celestina Warbeck to you.”

Harry takes the seat between Liam and Louis. “Yes,” he says. “But think of it this way--you’re actually halfway decent at singing--”

“All the way decent,” mutters a girl in their year that Harry’s pretty sure is named Sophia, loud enough to turn Liam’s ears red to match the rest of him.

“--whereas Stan is appalling at poetry, and the entire school knows about that.”

“Hey!” says Stan, from the Slytherin table. “You loved my poetry, Styles!”

Harry rolls his eyes at him. “You tried to woo me with a poem about Peeves, Lucas,” he says dryly. “Don’t talk to me.”

He takes the plate of food Louis hands him wordlessly, before leaning over to thieve some of his toast.

“Oi, paws off,” says Louis slapping at his hands. “Mine.”

Harry pouts at him until he relents and lets him have the damn toast.

“Thank you,” Harry says sweetly. “Love you.”

Louis sticks his tongue out at him and snatches some of his eggs.

Their friends have gone silent.

“Shit,” says Liam finally. “Tommo, are you still all--”

“Desperately in love with Harry and likely to do things like kiss him and call him sunshine?” says Louis promptly. “Yep.”

Harry grins at him, pleased.

“But don’t worry, Payno,” Louis continues, reaching around Liam for the pumpkin juice. “My wits are safely returned.”

“Are you sure?” says Liam, sounding worried, when the doors the Great Hall slam open and Nick comes storming towards them.

For some odd reason he’s not got his hair piled off his head this morning and he looks slightly off, somehow. As he gets closer, Harry realises it’s because for some ungodly reason, Nick hasn’t got any eyebrows. Harry is one hundred percent certain that the reason is currently sitting next to him attempting to play footsie with him under the table, but that’s beside the point. Nick’s been muttering on about potion making and hypotheticals and how everyone is very lucky that Slughorn likes him, but more importantly, he _hasn’t got any eyebrows._

A good portion of the Great Hall has gone silent.

“Louis Tomlinson,” says Nick, through his teeth.

“Nicholas,” says Louis pleasantly. “You’re looking lovely this morning.”

Nick just keeps glowering at him, mouth set in a straight line, and brow furrowed. Well. Harry supposes his brow would be furrowed, if he had a brow to begin with, but he hasn’t, and it’s hilarious, but Harry shouldn’t be laughing. Probably.

He takes one look over at Zayn, Niall, and Liam, and Harry is lost.

By the time the three of them manage to stop giggling, Nick has started tapping his foot on the ground and has his arms crossed and one invisible brow raised. Which only serves to set Harry off again, so it’s another few minutes before Nick is able to interject and say, “Fuck you, Styles,” with a great deal of vehemence.

“Oi,” Louis interrupts, draping an arm around Harry and tugging him close. “No one will be fucking my boyfriend but me, thanks.”

Nick just looks torn between congratulating Harry and murdering Louis.

 “Boyfriend,” Harry repeats, unable to help himself.

“Yeah?” Louis says, looking back at him, suddenly worried. “You alright with that?”

“Definitely,” Harry replies, breathlessly, and drags him in for a kiss

\--

**Second Year, 2006.**

\--

It’s Harry’s third day of his second year at Hogwarts and he’s already lost. He’s actually having trouble believing it, since he and Niall spent a good portion of the last year exploring the parts of the Castle they were point-blank not supposed to explore, mostly because Niall Horan knows no fear and Harry hadn’t had many friends in his year. Still, it’s well beyond curfew when Harry stumbles into a loo somewhere on what he thinks is the third floor, having gotten caught up studying in the library and having failed to sweet talk one of the staircases into _not_ taking him where ever it’s taken him.

The loo is empty, at least, so no one is around to see Harry have a very frantic and short-lived cry in front of the mirror, and he’s just settled in for a wee when the door bangs open and a very drunk, very loud, third year Louis Tomlinson is stumbling in.

Harry knows who Louis is. Everyone in Ravenclaw knows who Louis is, seeing as he’s the reason they’d lost the first Quidditch match of the season last year, after the Bludger he’d hit nearly took Chaser Ellie Goulding off of her broom in the last half of the match. Harry especially knows who Louis is, because he’d smiled at him when Harry first got on the train, before darting into a compartment filled with his friends. That was how Harry had met Niall, actually, gaping after the attractive boy with blue eyes and the perfect fringe.

Despite all this, Harry is not at all prepared for a drunken, loud, and still unfairly pretty Louis Tomlinson to come stumbling into the loo next to him, and to take one look at Harry and sort of...list over.

So Harry maybe pees on him a little.

A little.

A very tiny, very not noticeable, and very awful little. Harry’s life is over. “Oops,” he says, staring down at the edge of Louis’ robes, and then back up at Louis himself.

The older boy smiles back at him pleasantly, and Harry’s whole world shifts. “Hi.”

\--

 End.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorting based on the boys [answer](http://basicmen.tumblr.com/post/26052455131/me-asking-the-boys-a-question-during-soundcheck) to a soundcheck question. 
> 
> Much love to Vic for all her help world building. So much world building. I love this universe. 
> 
> I HOPE YOU ENJOYED.
> 
> There is a terrible edit/masterpost [here](http://zimriya.tumblr.com/post/98656011120/a-cauldron-full-of-love-oh-for-merlins-sake). ~~All of you should reblog it~~.


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